A Time to Speak
by Madea's Rage
Summary: War isn't over when it ends'. Draco and Hermione's war is over. Isn't it? Sequel to 'Favor Me with Silence'. CP!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**Title is a reference to the famous quote from Ecclesiastes. Summery quote is from 'Miss Saigon'.**

**I've promised the Malfoys they'll get the keyboard back soon, but I wanted a final chance to say my bit.**

**When Countess Black came onboard, she asked me to promise her two things. The first was that Draco would stop being so damned selfish in bed; he's better, at least, than he was. The second was that when Draco and Hermione got married, Hermione wouldn't end up in ruffles and lace.**

**This touches on a bugbear of mine, as it happens. Why are weddings in fantasy always exactly like modern, mainstream Western ceremonies in a context where that makes no sense? I set out to delibrately subvert that as much as possible.**

**I know that my ceremony runs somewhat counter to the one in DH; I tend to assume that the Malfoys, being extremely conservative and anti-muggle, would adhere very strictly to the old ways, whereas families like the Weasleys would not.**

**Also, italics indicate a flashback; bolded italics are...something else.**

**This is the sequel to 'Favor me with Silence'. If you haven't read that, I recommend doing so before you read this. Also, most of the same elements will be present. **

**Onwards and upwards,**

**Madea**

It was her wedding...day, as it happened...and Hermione Granger--now Malfoy-- was studying her new husband. When Draco smiled, _really_ smiled, his face changed totally. His eyes would crinkle a bit at the corners, and then the smile would slowly ease across his face, and then finally his dimples would show.

He was doing it now. Hermione smiled back, her other hand moved down slowly, through the fine blonde hair on his stomach and lower, until…his hand caught hers and held it.

"Mmm, what a curious little girl I have."

"It's been a long time."

He laughed. "Felt like months, didn't it?"

She nodded and pressed his shoulders to try to get him to lie down so she could climb atop him. Draco gently stiffened, refusing to be moved, and Hermione put her face up and said "Is something wrong, Draco?"

Draco wasn't smiling this time. He was smirking. Hermione felt her stomach clinch a bit. "You're plotting something."

"Now, love, I'm always plotting something. The question you should be asking is 'how does this plot relate to my interests?'"

Hermione shook her head. "Slytherins."

"Damned right. Like it is, I happen to be plotting a good, hard whacking for you. Go and get the chair ready for me, and choose an implement. Perhaps the slipper or spoon, something of that nature."

Hermione looked outraged. "I've not done anything!" She really didn't feel it, though, and softened her protest with a poke in the ribs for Draco. Draco huffed and pointedly ignored her.

"It's been ages since I gave you maintenance, and anyway, who decides about your discipline, Hermione Jane?"

"You do, sir."

" Up you get, then, and consider yourself lucky I'm not counting this against you. And put your nightgown back on."

Hermione found there was a sort of warm excitement in her stomach. She'd no doubt the smacking would hurt, and be humiliating and make her feel helpless and small, but those things actually seemed all right at the moment. Especially considering the morning they'd had…

_The darkness was almost a living thing. The light from the wall sconces was thin, wavering in and out as they walked the endless steps down and down into the belly of the house. Hermione was shivering. She wore no clothing beneath her robes. She wished for her bracelet; a warm jumper and thick trousers and wool socks might have been nice, but without her bracelet she was well and truly naked._

_Finally they came to the end and Greg put a hand on her arm. Ahead, Lucius flicked his wand and a million tiny candles flickered into existence. Around them, the marble tombs rose into the darkness, glowing white, illuminating the wreaths of flowers and fruit that garlanded them._

"_We stand now at the in-between, the place where worlds meet. There are no secrets in the dark. Do you understand?"_

_Greg tightened his hand lightly on Hermione's arm. "We do."_

"_Then come. The dead decide now."_

_There was a flat place under the dais with the table on it and they knelt. Lucius was ahead of all of them, and he reached for the basket of ritual goods and began._

"_Ancestors, we greet you by name and beg your pardon for our trespass. Here is wine to refresh you and herbs to lift your spirits. Hear us now and see that this duty has been done." He opened the flagon of wine, poured a stream into a bowl and carried it to the altar. _

"_We bring this offering in promise and celebration of a new life. Your descendant marries, and he comes to do you honour." Draco rose and stood beside his father. A spot of brightness filled the room; Draco had lit a small brazier. Murmuring a reverence, he sprinkled a handful of incense on the flames. _

"_Come forth, Goyle, and bring my son's wife hence."_

"_She is yet ours." Galten stood and helped Hermione walk the two meters to the place before the altar._

"_This is the girl, pure and untouched, pledged to our family line?"_

"_It is."_

"_A promise once made can never be revoked. Speak now or seal the girl's fate." _

"_By the shade of Galbraith Goyle, this is the girl you seek."_

_Lucius lifted the bowl of wine and gave it to Hermione. "Drink." She drained it. It was sour and oily, and as soon as it was down the room began to spin a little. Was there something in it? She couldn't remember afterword putting the bowl down; only Greg and his brother holding her arms to keep her from stumbling._

"_It is as you say. We accept the girl." _

_Lucius offered her the bowl of incense. She sprinkled a pinch into the fire. Strangely, her arms seemed not to be connected to the rest of her. Her hand opened when she willed it to, but it was as though she were watching telly. How odd._

_Galten nodded and turned to Draco. "You once vowed never to take arms against my house. Do you mean to honour that vow, in the sight of the living, the dead, and those such as we who are in between?"_

"_By the shade of Brutus Malfoy, I will never raise arms against your house, nor your lady wife's, nor your legal get, nor give aid to those who would."_

"_I have given you this girl, to give life to your line. What will you give me in return?"_

_Draco took a deep breath. "A life."_

"_Who's life?"_

"_Any who would raise arms against you."_

"_A vow is a weighty thing, and to forswear one taken in the presence of those who went before, who even now observe, is a sin beyond reckoning. All the world cries for the blood of an oath breaker. Do you understand?"_

_Draco nodded. "I do."_

_Galten poured wine from the flagon into the bowl and Draco drained it. He held the bowl by force of will; the world was swaying a little, and in the shadows he could see faces._

_. "A promise once made can never be revoked."_

_Greg came up last. "You vowed last night to be my son's second. Drink and fulfill your vow to this man and his wife." He did. The wine made him want to gag but he held it down and let the dreams take him. Then they were dreaming, and what they were dreaming was this; _

_**Draco is tiny and Father is lifting him. He laughs and the world seems to spin and now he is eleven and he is on the train to Hogwarts. He is thirteen and his arm is bloody, he is fourteen fifteen he is fifteen and masturbating to the remembered feel of Granger's flesh he is sixteen and is taking the Mark. The air crackles with the heaviness he associates with Dark magic, and his mask feels strange to him. His thoughts flash on Granger and something nags strangely at his mind, but he pushes it away. **_

_**The Dark Lord approaches and Draco bends to kiss his hem, nearly prostrate. He bears his arms and rolls it with terrible slowly. The Dark Lord's wand swishes and the arm is engulfed with agony, his soul on fire, and the smell of burned flesh and his own blood from where he has bit his tongue and the mask falls off and drops away and…Greyback? No, that isn't right. Greyback was at the manor, and they're not at the manor, they're at Yaxley's house. Or is it McNair's? He can't recall, but as he watches the coarse features melt like wax and the clothes shred. He is man and wolf, in between, and his human face has wolf's eyes and a red lolling tongue, yet he laughs with a man's voice…**_

_**She is at the seashore with her parents very small and happy and she has sand in her mouth and the water tastes salty and now she is twelve and there is blood in her knickers and she is bent over Malfoy's lap and he is making her feel good, alive, and the taste of his lips and she smells his seed, salty as the sea and her blood again, a spot on her thighs from where they joined and then she remembers that night outside the room, Draco's lips on hers for that moment in time and then she is falling, falling, and the book is below her on the bed and she knows he's gone, the paragraph inked for her . Marks..signs..Marks..and she smells blood and semen and tears all at once, and Draco's lips tasted like salt and his hands were so cold, so cold. Marks…signs…Marks…**_

_**Kent he is in Kent and the world is red the world is blood there is blood and screaming and the smell of rut and Bellatrix and the world is red blood on the walls and the floor, screaming and then Father is angry, Father is furious and he's going to be hit and then they are fleeing, they are hiding in the Forbidden Forrest and then it's battle and his aunt laughs as she kills the Creecy boy and he doesn't care, all he wants is Granger and Mother and Father and Home, and he holds her and…**_

_**Hermione sees Colin Creevy fall and Tonks and can do nothing, wheels and brings down Travers with a single well aimed stunner and the air stinks of sweat and death and then the scream comes like the birth cry of a nightmare and Hermione knows and he is there he is holding her and they are in her bed at home, her head on his chest as he sleeps and she smiles and then the garden, filled with lightening and one of them goes down with his chest a wet red pulp and over the rain she smells it and doesn't care, likes it, wants them all to die and then there's Draco and they're…**_

_**Making love in his bed and he knows it to be the future, that night, and she digs her nails into his neck and sighs and now they are in the garden and now they are laughing as he pulls her down onto a blanket and she buries her face in his chest and now outside again but no one is laughing and he feels something warm and wet on his face and knows it is blood and it is not his and he cries out her name and something answers him and it is not human nor animal but something less and more and it is in between…**_

_**Outside and the smell of fresh mud and pine and night air, and something looms above her and she falls and feels claws on her skin and there's blood on her face and it is not hers but the thing above her is laughing like a growl and pressing claws into her skin and she cries for Draco and the thing makes the noise again, neither laugh nor howl but something in between…**_

_**And then there are others visions, but they fade just as these will and only they remain, together, and each saw the other every time, and so it's done and then someone is shaking them, first Draco and then Hermione and …**_

_Hermione felt someone gently tip her head back. "Open your mouth." She did and something rancid filled it and she swallowed, knowing it was a potion. The veil of poppy draught or whatever it had been disintegrated and she stood unaided, aware she was stiff and cold and sore. The others, too were on their feet, and their faces were chalky white._

"_It is time." Lucius poured the lees of the flagon into the bowl and motioned Draco and Hermione forward. Greg came and well, and stood at Hermione's shoulder. He was shaking ever so slightly._

"_Draco, did the omens favour this match?"_

"_They did."_

"_Gregory, does the lady agree?" Hermione swallowed her vexation at being spoken for and nodded. Greg said slowly "She does."_

_Lucius levitated the bowl between the two. "Join hands. What is joined may never be sundered, and a promise made can never be revoked. I bind you as husband and wife in the sight of the living, the dead and the in between." He murmured a spell and their hands glowed a moment and then faded._

_Hermione wished more than anything her parents could have seen, but her heart was full of joy as well; she and Draco were safe, they could never be forced apart again. He gave her hand a squeeze and, looking up, saw there were tears on his cheeks._

_They weren't the only ones. Lucius' eyes were wet, and from behind them someone was sobbing softly. Draco took Hermione's arm with great solemnity and led her to his mother. Narcissa was holding a tiny brazier in one hand and a cup of water in the other._

"_I offer you the fire and water of this house. Do you accept?"_

"_I do." _

"_The promise made here, in the sight of the living and the dead, can never be revoked. Rejoin the living, conscious of the change that has been made". Lucius ended it with those words and they trooped back upstairs, and Hermione found her stomach knotting, and not just from hunger._

_The wedding contract sat on a table, a full inkwell beside it. First Lucius, then Galten, and finally Draco and Hermione signed. It glowed briefly and rolled itself into a tube as Lemmy, resplendent in a snowy tea towel, ceremonially strapped the parchment to the leg of the owl that waited on a discreet perch. _

_The window flew open at a flick of Lucius' wand and the owl departed with a muffled beating of wings. Narcissa and Antigone each took one of Hermione's hands and led her upstairs, into Narcissa's rooms. A fresh set of robes had been laid out, deep blue, and matching shoes and stockings. Tibby, weeping, was called to dress Miss, and then, holding the discarded robes and shoes, they went downstairs again._

_Narcissa nodded once and Tibby dropped the whole bundle into the fire, where it ignited with a whoosh , burning so quickly Hermione thought that Tibby must have done something to it. Antigone and Galten pressed forward and embraced Hermione in turn. _

"_Daughter, here is your father now. Obey him as you have me." _

"_Daughter, here is your mother now. Help her as you have me." _

_Draco took up the goblet that sat waiting on a tray. "Drink, wife." Her first act of obedience to him, to them, and she swallowed. The wine was cold and sweet, and she handed the goblet back as he drank as well._

_The Goyles left in silence, as she knew they would, and then everyone relaxed a bit, knowing the worst was over. Draco took Hermione's hand and they made their way up the stairs._

_Greg Goyle waited outside the appointed chamber. "I am here to do my duty, even as you do yours."_

"_Carry on with my thanks and that of my house."_

_Then doors swung shut behind them and finally, finally they were alone. In the silence they stared at one another a full minutes and then Draco, laughing, picked her up and swung her. "We did it, we really did it!"_

_Then she was laughing too, and back on the ground, and his hands found the fastening on her robes and pulled hooks from eyes, let the robes fall in a puddle of velvet. She was wonderfully, gorgeously nude under, and Draco felt that all his Christmases had come at once. Setting her on the bed, he knelt and dropped his head to her thigh._

"_Hermione…"_

"_Draco?"_

"_If you ever tell anyone I cried, I'll deny it."_

_Hermione snorted. "I love you too, Draco."_

_Draco could have responded, but he was too busy. Hermione gasped. She'd forgot how good it felt. She'd forgot how he could make pleasure move up and down her nerve endings like electricity, forgot he could play her like a violin. She jerked her hips, moaning, and then lay down._

"_P-please, please, can't we—ahh! God, Malfoy---oh, yes, there!" She finished with a gasp and then went limp, grinning, as Draco went into the ensuite bathroom and cleaned himself._

_Granger, he thought, would never learn that he knew what was best. Well, she would, but not without frequent reminders. He hardened at the very thought, even as he was swishing his mouth, and reached for the discreetly placed phial next to the sink . Stepping out, he handed it to Hermione._

"_Here, precious, swallow this for me."_

_She smiled lazily. "What is it?"_

"_Painkiller. You took that potion, remember? It'll hurt otherwise."_

_Hermione swallowed and then looked at him strangely. "You mean to say I'm a virgin again?"_

"_For the next thirty seconds or so. Ready?"_

"_I don't know. Perhaps I should take advantage of this opportunity. I could pet a unicorn or something."_

_Draco snorted as he skinned out of his clothing. "I've something even better right here, and you needn't put your clothes back on."_

_Entering her was like homecoming. Draco made himself go slowly, savour how good she felt, notice the little motions of eyelids and lips and the frail beat of her pulse at her neck. He pressed his lips to it, to her collarbones and sternum and ears, and came enormously._

_Hermione let the pleasure take her. The sadness and anxiety, the lonlieness and anger she'd felt since her home had been destroyed, fell away. All that remained was the sense of fullness inside her, the world shrunk to their ragged breath, the familiar burden of his weight. She felt him still, shuddering, and then it was finished._

_He rolled off and they lay in comfortable silence for some time, filled with gratitude and contentment._

Draco grinned as he rose and slid his nightshirt over his head with a grimace. So old fashioned! Well, tradition is tradition, and since he expected it of Hermione…he'd just have to find an extra clever way around it.

Speaking of whom, his little girl had done precisely what he'd asked, and stood, eyes downcast, beside the chair. She'd even set the slipper right where she was supposed to.

"Excellent, darling. Aren't we a big girl today?"

He sat and took her wrist, gently pulling her over his knee and tucking the voluminous folds of linen up. Oh, he had missed this terribly. Hermione evidentially felt the same way, because she was wiggling closer to him, and he spent a moment just stroking her arse, delighted with life.

"You've been naughty, Hermione, haven't you?"

Hermione wiggled a bit more. "Well, not really. Perhaps--"

SMACK! "Yes, you have. Very naughty, and what happens when you're naughty?"

Hermione suddenly went rigid. "Draco! Stop!"

"You aren't squirming out of this, so don't even try ."

"Goyle! He'll hear!"

Draco smirked, unseen. He could tell her that Goyle had silenced the room, but where would be the fun in that? Instead, he lifted his knee and gave both sit spots some attention. "Now, Hermione, Greg knows what happens to bad little girls. It will reassure him to know you're being properly taken care of. Lie still while I whack you and then we'll talk about it."

"Draco, please!"

"Love, relax, I'm teasing. He can't hear a thing, now take your smacks like a big girl, now, won't you?"

He used his hand until it burnt, until Hermione was kicking and twisting and pleading to be let go. He stopped and hoisted her to her feet. "Get the slipper for me, there's love. Back over, well done, and your hand—thank you, Hermione."

Hermione felt so good and so awful at the same time. She felt elated they were married, but more than anything she wished her parents could have been there. She was thrilled that she and Draco could be intimate again, but in her current position…

"Now, Hermione Jane, what do naughty little girls get?"

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"AHH! Slippersiroww!"

"That's right. I'm going to smack your bottom until it's hot and sore, because you've got away with murder the last few weeks, haven't you?"

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"OWW! Y'SIR!"

"You were very good about taking your punishment, weren't you, precious? I think my little girl's ready for a later bedtime. Bit more on your thighs, dearest, and—there we are, all done."

Hermione, sobbing, made no effort to rise. Draco pressed a hand to her back and rubbed, telling himself this would be a bigger purge than usual due to the excitement of the past few days. After a few very long minutes, Hermione began to quiet down and he carefully flipped her, carrying her to the bed.

Hermione sniffled as Draco put her down on the bed, lifting her gown back and opening the tin of salve he'd secreted there earlier. His hand began to stroke the stuff on her burning skin, and Hermione let herself relax, completely at ease. Then his hand slid lower.

"Oh, yes, yes. Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"May I do something for you?"

Behind her, Draco huffed. "Only you, Gra—Hermione. What would you like to do?"

"Lie down on the bed and I'll get on top."

Draco tried to ignore the sweet siren call of temptation. "Darling, I…" His body had other ideas and in two minutes he was on his back, Hermione astride him. She looked so serious, so studious that he had to laugh. "There's not going to be an exam, love. Stop looking so damned solemn about it."

Hermione grumbled. "That's easy for you to say. This is hard work. At least you're used to it."

Draco laughed out loud. "Poor love. Shall I relieve you of your chore and take you the usual way?"

She shook her head, hair swinging like a curtain, and pumped harder. "No, I'm—ahh—fine. How are—oh my—you?"

Draco's response was also his climax and then she was beside him again. "Well, that was nice."

"Mmm. You know, I really ought to put you down for a nap."

"Let's have one now, then."

"A bath first?"

Hermione nodded. "Let's not call Tibby, though."

"Quite. We'll never get her away if we do."

Outside the room, Greg dozed in his chair, head drooping forward and then snapping back. The room was well silenced, but every so often he'd heard things when they got very loud. He didn't care to dwell on them; he was very fond of Draco, and even sort of liked his bird, but there are some things a man doesn't want to know about his best mate.

And he felt guilty. There was something, something important. He'd seen it in the fumes and the small sip of wine he'd taken and it was bothering him like a flea bite, like an itchy wool jumper, like a rash. He finally lost the battle with sleep and lolled, and then there was Vince.

"Oi, Greg."

"Oi, Vince. How—how are you?"

Vince nodded. "All right, I suppose. How're the Harpies doing?"

"Fine. You know you're dead?"

"Yeah." They sat amicably for a moment, in between, and then Vince says seriously "Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm to give you a message."

"Oh. What is it?"

"Tell him the Mask is slipping, and to remember which is the true. It'll be hard, but he has to do it."

"Shouldn't you just give _him_ the message, then?"

Vince frowned. "What I said, but nothing's ever that easy, eh?"

Greg laughed. "Vince?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you loads."

"S'all right. I've not left you, you know."

Greg nodded. "Still hard."

"It'll get better. Just remember the message."

"I will."

"Bye, Greg."

"Bye, Vince."

But when they come out hours later, smiling and rosy and looking happier than Greg has ever seen them, he finds he can't quite remember. Not that night. Not the next day, when Lucius Malfoy pressed an enormous sum of money into his hands and sends him home with sincere thanks and one of his strange quips.

"My son would come, but he rose with the farmers, as the muggles would say."

"Sir?"

"He's tending his garden, Gregory."

Greg furrowed his brow. "Draco has a garden? For herbs, like?"

Lucius surpressed a groan. "Rather. Do thank Galten for us, and owl if you should need anything, won't you?"

Greg agrees and steps through, thinking of the funny dream he had, and whether he should say something. He didn't, though. It was, after all, only a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**:

**Darlings, let me begin by apologizing for Madea. She's been just awfully remiss in not posting sooner, but her schoolwork is absolutely too much. All the same, I've explained how rude she's been and she's very sorry.**

** That nice Countess Black has been wonderfully helpful, and a good influence as well, I think.**

**I've encouraged both the dear girls to take things slowly, and sternly forbade any vulgar happenings this early in things, but I rather fear they'll return soon enough. **

** Now, I know you'll all leave me a nice little note, because you wouldn't want to disapoint me,**

**Yours,**

**Narcissa Malfoy**

Hermione had first become aware of exactly how much had changed when she woke late the next morning and found a strange house elf staring down at her, tennis ball eyes glowing with a sort of fanatic devotion which, even in her sleepy state, she found deeply creepy.

She gasped, sitting and pulling the blankets up to her chin, which woke Draco. The elf jerked back with a cry, bowing until its ears touched the duvet and began to weep breathlessly. "Young Madam is being awake! Young Madam is seeing Leesy!" She sobbed harder and Draco, looking murderous, snapped 'Shut. Up.' And sat as well, bare chest very pale in the sunlight.

Hermione reached for the goblet of cold water on the bedside table, swallowed some and set it back down. "Hello there. Is something wrong, er, Leesy?"

The elf shook her head, still crying, and punched herself in the nose. "No! We is just so happy to be seeing our young Madam!"

" And I am happy to see you, but right now I think Draco—young Master—and I would like some time to wake up. Could you possibly step out and let us alone for a while?"

Leesy looked ready to argue when Tibby abrupted Apparated into the room, looking as though she were filled with joyful pique. "Stupid Leesy is waking up the young Master and Madam! Leesy is bad elf!"

Leesy wheeled around and crossed her arms, looking similarly cross to see Tibby. "What is Tibby knowing? It is only baby minder elf! Leesy is lady's maid!"

"Leesy is only serving three generations the Malfoy family! Tibby is serving five!"

"Tibby is wiping noses! Leesy is being servant body servant to three Madams!"

The whole thing could have got much uglier if Draco hadn't chanced to look at his watch and swear quietly. "Enough of this, Tibby, go and tell Father we'll receive them in ten minutes. Leesy, fetch young Madam's nightdress and my sleepclothes as well. Hurry."

Hermione skinned back into her nightgown, confused. "Draco?"

"We have to receive Mother and Father in bed. Leesy, send for tea and for Merlin's sake, move, are you stupid? Go."

"Draco, that's not kind." Hermione frowned and Draco, remembering how sentimental Granger was when it came to the idiot creatures, nodded. "Sorry, love."

"Don't tell me, Draco. Tell Leesy."

"Apologize? To an elf?' He chuckled 'Darling, it's not done."

"Would you speak to someone else that way?"

Draco kissed her. "No, but we'll talk about this next year. For right now, just relax." A knock came at the door and Narcissa poked her head in. "Darlings!"

"Good morning, Mother." She came and kissed them both, followed by her husband. Lucius looked bemused, frowning slightly. "Is something the matter, Father?"

Lucius sat in the chair beside the bed. "I just had a conversation with Gregory, actually. He's not good with figurative speech, is he?"

Draco shook his head, grinning. "No, best just tell him what's on your mind."

Narcissa summoned the vanity stool and sat down on, taking Hermione's hand in hers. "Now, love, was everything all right?"

Hermione nodded and sipped from the mug the smirking Leesy had pressed into her hands. 'They all do it' she realised with a start, and wondered whether she, too, would smirk before long. Unable to stall any longer, she put the mug on the tray and said "Yes, Mother, it was fine."

Narcissa tilted her head and gave both children a preemptive Look to dissuade lying. "He wasn't too rough, was he?"

Hermione could feel blood gently staining her cheeks. "No, Mother."

"Are you very sore, darling?"

"A—a little."

"Well, we'll have you take something to help and you'll spend today resting, all right?"

Hermione started to protest that she felt fine, but Draco squeezed her hand and hissed 'It's tradition."

"He's quite right, love. It's tradition that you spend the next few days getting your strength back. And anyway, I need to start explaining the running of the manor."

Hermione relaxed slightly, knowing there was something useful for her to do, and Draco gave her a very gentle poke in the side, which she took to be an I-told-you-so. She narrowed her eyes and resolved to poke back at first opportunity, perhaps on one of Draco's plentiful tickle spots.

"And how is Leesy working out?"

"She seems a bit…high strung. And she and Tibby don't seem to like one another very much, but I'm sure she's very nice."

Lucius snorted. "She's certainly intense, isn't she?"

"Mightn't it hurt Tibby's feelings, though, to replace her this way?"

"Oh, she isn't being replaced. They'll serve you jointly." Hermione nodded, mentally praying this was a sadistic joke or something. Lucius' face was smooth and calm and she knew, looking, that it was not.

Draco was quite enjoying the prospect of watching this play out. He hoped this experience would help his little girl get passed this tendency to sentimentalize the stupid creatures. Perhaps once she'd experienced how petty and obnoxious they could be, she would be willing to see he'd had the right of it all along.

Narcissa patted his hand as well. "What about you, my darling? Was everything all right for you?"

"Yes, Mother."

"You didn't have any…problems?"

Draco looked away. "No, no problems."

"And you're quite sure it's consummated?"

"Yes, Mother."

Narcissa nodded and called for an elf to bring them food, the first meal they would officially share as a family. As they ate fruit and bread and drank pumpkin juice, Lucius amused them all with a recounting of all the gossip they'd missed in their self imposed exile.

As the elves were cleaning up, Lucius turned and said offhandedly to Hermione "I wonder if you'd mind doing me a favour, Hermione?"

"What's that, Father?"

"My own dear father left a large number of books in storage in the garret, I wonder whether you'd help me catalogue them and find places for them all. Being stuck in the house as we are, I thought it might prove diverting."

Hermione's face lit up. Narcissa, watching her face, noticed suddenly how pretty Hermione was when she was happy. Draco was smiling too, and leant over to murmur something in Hermione's ear which made her blush and giggle.

"I think Hermione likes the idea, dearest."

Lucius chuckled. "I daresay. After the three days rest, understood? And only if you've your strength back."

"Yes, Father."

Narcissa rose and smiled at her husband. "I think Hermione and I shall go and get started. Is an hour enough time to get ready, love?"

Hermione somehow kept a straight face. "I think so, Mother."

The adults drifted out and they were alone again. Hermione turned to Draco, smiled like an angel, and promptly pounced him, tickling his sides and belly and arms. Draco squirmed, breathlessly making all sorts of threats, until he finally overpowered her and tickled her back, flailing and promising revenge of her own.

Gasping and chuckling, the two of them collapsed on the bed, finally done, and held one another tightly, still grinning like naughty children. After a few moments, Draco sighed regretfully and, picking his panting little girl up and his wand, carried her into the bathroom.

The tub was huge, a massive slab of marble carved deep enough to comfortable seat half a dozen adults. Setting Hermione down on the mat, a single flick of the wand set the tub to filling, and they started to undress.

Tibby, having heard the water, appeared at once and started to undress Hermione, chattering happily. She literally could not have been more thrilled that everything had worked out the way she'd wanted it to. And soon there would be a rosy little baby for her to love and care for! Her life could not possibly have been any better.

Unfortunately, Leesy chose that moment to assert her right as young Madam's maid. "Tibby is leaving now, Leesy undresses young Madam."

"Tibby is explaining this earlier. Tibby is helping because is being young Madam's maid first."

Hermione, not intending to stand semi-nude for indefinite amounts of time while the elves fought it out. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood straighter and said very loudly "That's enough."

The elves stopped at once. "This is absurd. There is no reason for you to argue about this. You can both help, and if it doesn't stop' she groped for an appropriate threat 'I'll send you both out and do everything myself."

The gasps of protest and horror resounded around the room, Tibby bawling that young Madam was much too fragile and Leesy sobbing that she'd never forgive herself if young Madam strained something doing too much.

Draco raised an eyebrow and nodded approvingly as Hermione continued. "Tibby will help me bathe. Leesy, please go and set out my clothing, and ask Draco's elf to do his as well."

They climbed into tub. It had been a very long time, and Draco studied Hermione with pleasure, noticing how well she'd filled out. There were still scars, of course, purple and faint against her skin, but they could be fixed in time.

Hermione studied him straight back. His Dark Mark had faded to a sort of vague grey shape on his left forearm, the edges as faded and blurred as an old tattoo. Draco noticed her scrutiny and felt heat in his face. "Does it bother you?"

Hermione looked him in the eye. "I can't say I like it, but I understand why you did what you did."

"Is that what you and Father were talking about the day we came here?"

"Yes." She looked away, feeling as though it had been a thousand years before. She wondered whether Draco ever felt old like this—as though the war had drained their youth from them like crushing a milksap pod to get the juice out.

He patted her shoulder. "He's good at helping sort of feelings, isn't he?"

She nodded. "Sometimes I think you read my thoughts."

He laughed and slid a wet hand down her neck, pulling her closer by a steamy shoulder. "I'd be scared. Too much there to sort through."

Hermione giggled and moved closer, feeling bold enough to press her lips to his neck. His skin tasted hot and damp and musky. She reached down with her other hand and grasped him, nibbling lightly on his neck as she did.

Draco gasped. "God! Granger!" But he didn't dare let it go further. He took the wayward hand in his and pressed it to his lips. "Not now, love, we're expected." And deep down, he felt a little guilt. He really shouldn't be allowing her to take charge of these things. It was one thing for him to occasionally release her bad humours, but he couldn't keep letting her pollute herself.

Hermione obediently stood and let herself be wrapped in a thick towel. She stepped out as Tibby dried her off and oiled her skin to keep it soft. Tibby having charmed her hair dry, they set off for the bedroom.

Leesy had set out a complete set of morning clothes. Slate grey robes, a high necked dress, stockings, a camisole, a pair of old fashioned drawers, thin leather shoes. Draco dropped his towel and stepped behind one of the dressing screens provided, ordering his valet to let him dress himself.

Leesy held out the drawers and Hermione, blushing, slowly undraped the towel. She started to fold it when Leesy said "We is doing that. Young Madam is letting it fall."

Hermione obeyed and tried to take the drawers from Leesy. Leesy was having none of it. Smiling, she tightened her grip and Hermione, resigned, stepped in. She wasn't precisely thrilled at the idea of wearing knickers like this; the last time, Draco had put her knees to her chest and taken that damned hairbrush to her.

Leesy helped her into the silk stockings and then slid the camisole over her head. "Leesy? Don't I need a bra?"

Leesy blinked. "What is that being? Leesy is not knowing 'bra'."

Hermione felt her stomach jump a little. "Tibby? Please go and get a bra from my things in Mother's room. Subtly, if you would."

Tibby returned a moment later, holding a coral coloured bra in her hand. For once, both Leesy and Tibby were in agreement. "Young Madam is wearing this?"

"Yes, most muggle women wear them every day."

Leesy took the bra and examined it, frowning. A strange thing, all bulges and lines. She'd find a way to throw it out. Tibby was apparently thinking the same thing, because she gave young Madam a smile and said "Camisole is being much better. Softer, too, and cleaner. Young Madam is wanting to be clean?"

"Yes, of course, but it never bothered you before, Tibby."

Tibby nodded. "Young Madam was not knowing better, and not having anything else, anyway. Now there is being an alternative, and young Madam is being married lady. Is not fitting young Madam should keep wearing bad muggle clothes."

"They aren't bad, they're just--"

Draco poked his head out from his dressing screen. "You won't win this. Talk to Mother instead, she'll help you."

Hermione nodded and raised her arms to be helped into a light summer dress, a light yellow cotton with three quarters lengths sleeves and a light skirt. Next was her robes, a pair in soft, light silk, cut in a vee. Hermione was surprised by how pretty she felt.

Draco apparently thought so as well, because he gave her a wink when he saw her. "Very good, Granger. Hermione, I mean."

"Malfoy' she giggled a little ' you can still call me Granger, you know."

He shook his head. "Have to get out of the habit. Else I'll do it in public and cause a scandal."

"As though we haven't already."

"Mmm, we're rebels, certainly. Hurry, precious, Leesy's going to do your hair."

Hermione obediently sat at the vanity. Leesy took up pins, oil and comb, and in record time had done a very pretty bun. When she picked up an alabaster bowl of face powder and a brush, Hermione rebelled. "Oh, no, no makeup. It isn't me."

Leesy frowned. "It is being tradition."

"I'll talk to Mother, Leesy. I really don't care for the way it feels."

Leesy sighed loudly but put down the brush. Giving Draco a peck goodbye, the witch and her elf (even madder than Tibby, she thought with some trepidation) set off for Mother's room. They were bidden in at once by a surprised Narcissa, who was only partly done herself.

"Gracious, that was quick. I thought you'd be another twenty minutes at least."

"No, Mother. Tibby and Leesy were both great helps to me." Leesy began to pound her head against the stone hearth with pleasure, sobbing rapturously about the wondrous kindness of the young Madam. Hermione squirmed and said quickly "Leesy, stop! I'd like some pumpkin juice."

Leesy leapt up to get it, and Narcissa smiled. "Good, love. You're learning. How have you managed them so far?"

Hermione told her about the scene in the bathroom and Narcissa laughed aloud. "Oh, my, that must have been priceless. What else happened?"

"Well, we had a bit of dispute, because I'm not comfortable going about braless, and Draco suggested I speak to you."

"Bra-less?"

"It's an undergarment. Muggle women wear them…up top…every day. Well, mostly. Both Tibby and Leesy were very upset that I wanted to wear one."

Narcissa called Tibby to show the one she had fetch, looking at it with distaste. " You actually wore this thing?"

"Yes, of course. Didn't you see when you lifted my shirt up that day?"

Narcissa thought back. "Hmm, now that you mention…I suppose I thought it a posture support or something. I never imagined it went all the way round. Why do you wish to wear it?"

Hermione considered. "I've always done. Muggles find it unattractive when women—bounce."

"You oughtn't be doing anything that would cause that, but let's make a compromise, shall we? While in traditional dress, you wear the usual smallclothes. While in muggle dress, you may wear one of these things. Is that fair?"

Hermione thought this was the best she could have hoped for and nodded. "Very. Thank you, Mother."

"You're welcome, love. Now, about this soreness, how severe is it?"

"Not very, Mother."

Narcissa eyed her. It was said muggles had a much higher pain tolerance than wizards, and especially than witches. She wondered if Hermione had that problem and decided she likely did, and it was up to her to retrain the poor thing.

"Now, love, I think the first thing is to discuss the house rules. You know the basic ones, but running a manor of this size is largely dependent on doing things a certain way. The first and most important one is that there are no secrets between us. Do you understand that? Truly?"

"I—yes. Draco and I have discussed it."

Narcissa didn't doubt they had. "Speaking of which, love, I've been wanting to ask you about that night Draco found you in the library. What were you doing there all by yourself, at that hour?"

"Researching something Harry needed. A potion, and Madam Pince never minded if I stayed late, so long as I didn't make a mess."

"You must have been scared to death, all alone in the dark like that." Narcissa delicately knit her brow; she was worse than appalled that Hermione had done a thing like that, and believed a smacking had been well merited, but she felt a pang for the poor unselfish love, who'd braved her fear in a well meaning but totally unsuitable manner.

"It wasn't so bad." Hermione had loved it, honestly. The warm darkness, the smells of leather and old parchment and ink, the small skittering sounds of mice in the walls.

"And curfew was what time?" Perhaps the girl's fear hadn't gotten this severe until after the war. She made a mental note to ask her son and pushed forward.

"Ten o'clock. I rather fell asleep and Draco--"

"Found you, fortunately, and took you in hand to see that nothing worse happened. As unpleasant as what he did was, it could have been ever so much worse. Draco tells us you fought him quite strenuously, that first time."

Hermione blushed. "Well, I was a little surprised to say the least."

"I imagine. How did you handle it after?"

Hermione was positive her face would never regain its normal colour again. Looking at her hands, she cleared her throat and said "You mean directly, or after everything was done?"

"Both."

"Well right after I was fairly upset, but later I suppose I felt better." What was she supposed to say? Hermione had no idea how to handle this; she couldn't precisely mention the various things Draco had done to her that night.

"And Draco helped you to calm down, and explained why you needed to be punished?" It was literally unthinkable to Narcissa that someone would chastise another person and not finish by helping them feel better. She lived by the maxim that while it was sometimes necessary to punish, it was equally necessary to see that the chastised understood they were forgiven after.

"Well, after I'd got under control, we talked about it and then he walked me back to my dormitory."

" Did it help you change your behavior?"

Hermione squirmed, eyes averted. "Not initially. I was fairly angry he'd done a thing like that. But after a while I saw things differently."

Narcissa nodded, satisfied and decided to press on. "Very good, love. You felt shy but trusted me enough to be truthful. Father will be so pleased."

Hermione found a smile somewhere and thanked her mother in law, incredibly relieved this line of questioning had ended. She had scant time to be grateful; Narcissa carefully detailed the expectations they had for Hermione, beginning with the many small niceties of dress and deportment that ruled Malfoy manor.

"We eat breakfast at eleven, so I shall expect you to come here no later than quarter to. That isn't too early, love, is it?"

Hermione grinned, thinking it a joke. "Not at all. I'm usually up by eight thirty or so."

Narcissa frowned. "Truly? Why so early, precious?"

"I don't need much sleep, I suppose. And Draco's generally up before I am."

"Yes, he likes very early morning flights. But ladies rarely rise before ten AM. And why do you think you needn't much sleep?"

Hermione wondered how to make this sound better than it was. "I always had something to do, Mother. There wasn't any time for--"

"Adequate rest?" Narcissa gave the girl a firm Look and raised her eyebrows, gratified at the slight blush which stained her cheeks. "From now on, I expect you'll stay in bed until a reasonable hour, unless Draco takes you flying, understood? And you're both to go to sleep at a sane time, as well."

'After breakfast, you'll come back here with me and we'll start to fill in the gaps in your knowledge of wizarding culture. Dinner is at one, and then you'll nap from two to four. You and Draco will spend time together from four to seven thirty, and then supper is at eight. After supper, we'll spend time together as a family, and retire by midnight. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes, Mother." Hermione felt slightly overwhelmed and Narcissa, with her sharp eyes, saw it at once. Taking the girl's hand, she gave it a pat and smiled comfortingly. "It's not so much to remember, darling, I promise. And we shall all help you, shan't we?"

The rest of the day went well, and so there is no need to stay at Malfoy manor at the nonce; though of course, that will soon change. Rather, go far from the women, safe as they were in the muted tastefulness of the ancestral rooms, to London, where a ragtag band was stirring. They'd left the park a few days previously, when it became obvious that the house was impregnable through normal means, and it pleased one of their number not at all.

Cursing, Greyback paced the small parlour. There was a bedroom down the hall, and from it issued the high, shrill screams that bespoke an interrogation. He didn't care. Growling, he pounded the wall and then paced a bit more, bitterly angry they were delayed.

The door flew open and Bellatrix strode briskly inside, wiping her blood smeared hands fastidiously on something that looked like a man's shirt. Ignoring him, she crossed the room and murmured in her husband's ear a few moments. Rodolphus sighed and said "Only for you, Bellatrix."

"Thank you, Rodolphus." He left his easy chair and walked the small corridor to the bedroom, the screams increasing in pitch and volume as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. Greyback swore more forcefully and clutched his head. He'd got a bottle of muggle firewhiskey the night before, and his head still rang with it, on top of everything else.

The screams ceased and Rodolphus, looking smug, came back into the room. He clicked his fingers for an elf and was annoyed when he remembered there were none. Really, what kind of savages fed their own fire and made their own meals? Huffing, he dropped another log into the fireplace and felt a tinge of nostalgia for Malfoy manor, with its legion of elves and cool, plush quiet.

That maniac his wife seemed to have adopted came toward him. "Well?" His teeth were still stained with blood from his last meal, noticed Rodolphus with distaste. "Go and see for yourself, Fenrir. I daresay the man is quite eager to speak to you."

Greyback shoved his way through the small crowd emerging from the room and made his way to the quivering form which had been thrown onto the mattress. He lifted the old man by his lapels, seeing his scrawny throat working with terror.

"Well, old man?"

"I'll do it." Hamm began to sob. He was one hundred and five and certain his heart couldn't take the strain. He was an apothecary, not even political, and his wife, rest her sweet soul, had been muggleborn. But none of that mattered now; all that mattered was surviving the night.

Greyback nodded. Hiding at the old man's had been a perfect plan. By day, he could run his shop and no one would be the wiser; at night, he would work on a number of special projects for the Death Eaters.

He let George Hamm drop to the mattress again and pulled up the chair. "Tell me how it can be done."

Hamm forced himself to speak slowly and calmly. His own life was incidental, but these animals, these monsters had threatened his son and daughters as well, his little grandchildren and great grandchildren. He gave the wolfman, with his deathly smell and blackened fingernails, a level look and explained.

"I can do it, I believe. I'd need a quantity of the wolfsbane potion, not to mention several rare ingredients."

Greyback waved impatiently. "Yes, yes, whatever. And it will make it so we can transform at will?"

"Likely. It will be dangerous, though. A strain on your bodies."

Greyback's smile was a ghastly rictus, and stank of the charnel house. "That's for us to worry about. You'll start tomorrow."

"Yes, after the shop has closed."

"And I want it in three weeks."

The old man's eyes widened. "Impossible! It'll takes months just to--"

"I'd do it, old man. That granddaughter of yours is looking quite…toothsome, wouldn't you say?"

George Hamm began to cry again, and Greyback rose. Inside him, his wolf stretched and grinned hungrily, remembering the sweet young female he had waiting for him, and also the male that had defiled her, imagined the taste of his heart's blood. He was getting hard and he ignored it, pleased that soon he could call forth his beast whenever he wanted.

He scrounged paper and quill and wrote a short note to his second, to assemble the band in one of their usual places and await his orders. 'Do smarten up, brothers. If all goes according to plan, we'll be attending a ball within the moon.'

And he laughed to himself, and went off to find a female, and pretend it was it was she.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**Well, here we are again, and much sooner than anticipated. I trust you were all good muggles whilst I was gone? I rather hope not. Anyway, speaking of good muggles, Madea was quite inspired and wrote much more quickly than usual (anything she says about being held at wandpoint should be dismissed as female hysterics, incidentally).**

**Darling Countess Black was, as always, an invaluable support. I rather wish I could escape the vague notion they're plotting against me...**

**Ah, well, do leave a message, won't you? I simply can't bear to listen to anymore whinging or requests to put my wand down.**

**Yours,**

**Lucius Malfoy**

Severus Snape had always been solitary. Throat heavily bandaged, he was eating a piece of toast lathered with marmalade, unsurprisingly alone, when suddenly, he wasn't. Which is to say that Lucius Malfoy, with a bit more grey about his temples but looking indecently well all the same, abruptly Apparated into the kitchen of Spinners' End.

"Good morning, Severus."

"Lucius." Snape took another bite of toast and chewed, affecting to ignore the smirking pillock who happened to be his oldest living friend. Polite as ever, Lucius likewise remained standing, smiling in a way not entirely friendly. Snape finished the toast, set the crust down on his plate, and stared blankly at Malfoy, waiting for him to speak.

"I assume you've heard."

"About Draco and Miss Granger? Yes."

"Any thoughts? You are the boy's godfather."

"My sincerest good wishes." Snape's face never changed. Lucius, sighing, shook his head. "Really, Severus, I might have expected a bit more sentiment."

Snape gestured for Lucius to sit. "What would you have me say, Malfoy? I would have thought the past year proved my affection for your son."

Lucius blinked. "Of course it did. I came here to speak to you about that, as it happens."

"Oh?"

"You gave Draco contraceptive, I understand?"

"I did." Snape had no intention of justifying himself to Lucius Malfoy over this. He'd done all he could do, and anyway it all seemed to have worked out. Malfoy nodded, wearing that look of friendly interest that could be so disconcerting to those who didn't know how to handle it. Snape did.

"Thank you."

"I would have thought you'd be livid, Malfoy."

"At first I was. But then I considered that you helped my son through a very difficult time, not to mention…"

"How I killed Albus Dumbledore for Draco?"

"Yes, that as well." Lucius looked away, and Snape softened a fraction of a millimeter. He loved Draco, and weird though his love was, it was real. He was happy the boy had got the girl he wanted, and he thought they'd be good for one another.

"Of course, we expect you at the ball."

Snape laughed. "A ball? Really, Lucius, why don't you stake me out for Potter?"

"It's your godson, Severus. It would mean the world to him."

Snape shook his head, smirking. "Draco is eighteen years old and newly married. The girl means the world to him. How is she working out, Granger?"

Lucius shrugged. "As well as could be expected. Peculiar ideas, of course, but very sweet underneath."

'Sweet' was not a word Snape would have associated with Granger, but he nodded all the same. "He did a good job with her?"

"He's a Malfoy, what else? There's work to be done, but I am confident it will work out wonderfully."

"Any news of her parents?"

"None. Their Secret Keeper is likely dead, and…well, these things happen." That told Snape everything he needed to know, and he said nothing. It was Malfoy's business, and whether the muggles were found was no wine from Snape's cellar.

"So I did right, keeping the boy stocked with contraceptive?"

"Stocked?"

"Yes. He was sixteen, did you think they'd only done it the once?"

"That's what they seemed to think."

Snape grinned. "A man of the world, and yet still so naïve. Good day, Lucius."

Lucius had stood and prepared to Apparate away. "Good day, Severus. Do be ready for that invitation, won't you?"

Draco was reading in the library when a hand clamped the back of his neck. "Draco, I should like a word in my study." That never meant anything good. Gulping, Draco rose and followed his father, feeling nervous for no logical reason. Yet.

Hermione and Mother were already in the study. Draco's stomach lurched lower. "Draco, Snape and I had a very interesting conversation this morning. He seems to think that Hermione and yourself were having—ahh, carnal relations—rather more frequently than you've led Mother and I to believe."

Both children went white. Draco swallowed hard and said nothing, while Hermione stood a little straighter and made herself look as brave as she could. Narcissa reached out and cupped her shoulder. "Is that true, love?"

"It was all my fault, I told him to--"

Draco turned around. "No, you didn't! I asked you to do it all those times, and then I told you not to say anything to Mother and Father."

"I didn't exactly insist that you tell them, did I?"

"You tried! Even pointed out I'd punish you for telling a lie like I did."

"Draco!"

"Hermione!"

Lucius found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The children were completely engrossed in trying to take the blame for one another, so much so they'd forgot he and Narcissa were even there.

"All right, enough. Hermione, you may go to Mother's chamber and wait on the bed. Draco, you may go to your old room. We'll sort this out and then deal with both of you." As soon as the children had left, still arguing sotto voce, both adults collapsed into fits of chuckling.

Once their mirth had passed, they straightened and sighed. "Well, this is a problem."

Narcissa nodded. "They ought to have told us."

"Certainly. She could have been hurt."

"It was sweet, though, the way they tried to take the responsibility for one another."

"Mmm. I suppose you'll deal with Hermione while I deal with Draco?"

Narcissa nodded, looking slightly daunted. "Of course. This should prove interesting, to say the least."

Lucius rose and motioned his wife out the door. "It will be fine, Cissy. And I can deal with her if it's a problem."

Draco wasn't pouting. He was sitting on the bed, arms crossed and head down, but he wasn't pouting. He blew his fringe out of his eyes and then jumped a little when the door opened and his father walked in. Lucius shut the door behind himself and stood for a long moment, just looking. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Father, I---"

"Hermione tried to get you to tell us ?"

"Yes, Father." Draco stared at the duvet, feeling twelve again. Nine, even. He flashed uncomfortably on the tea cup incident and winced a bit. Lucius sat and gently cupped his son's shoulder. "Relax. I'm not going to kill you. But Draco, I know you know better than this. You have to value her more than she's been taught to value herself."

Draco nodded. "It just seemed—I mean—I thought it wouldn't matter after you'd said we could marry, because it wasn't as though I could ruin her more than I had. And she, she never minded it."

Lucius sighed deeply. "Hermione is a woman, love. She follows your lead in these things. Did you explain to her that what you were doing was wrong?"

"No. I told her she couldn't do—muggle things—when it came to—that—but she never asked whether it was wrong for us to…once she did."

"Oh?"

"The first time. After, she asked me."

"What did you tell her?"

Draco blanched. "I told her she'd chosen a bad time to have a fit of conscience. She didn't ask again."

Lucius blinked. "I see. And it never occurred to you that you'd set her moral development back?"

"Well, I—He liked to legilimise me, and I was afraid if we didn't amuse Him, He'd hurt her. Hurt us."

Lucius inhaled slowly, wishing Snape had kept his damned mouth shut. " Oh, Draco.' The boy looked half frightened, and he put an arm about his shoulders, not knowing what to say. This was worse than he'd thought.

"Does she know, Draco?"

"No! I didn't want him anywhere close to her." Lucius knew how that felt, actually, and began to rub his son's back lightly. "And she never showed any adverse effects?"

Draco shook his head immediately. "No, Father. I was careful about being gentle."

Lucius gave him a quick squeeze. "I don't doubt that, Draco.' He forced himself to continue. " But you lied to Mother and me, and we need to address that. You know what comes next, I think."

Draco stood and took off his robes, unbuckled his belt, eased down his trousers and laid across his father's lap. "I'm sorry, Father."

"Of course you are, dearest." Lucius put and arm about the boy's waist and started.

Narcissa found the girl waiting where she'd been told. That was a good beginning, at least. She half expected the child to burst into tears immediately and was pleasantly surprised when the girl looked directly at her and said quietly "I'm sorry to have caused such a fuss."

"Hush. Now, tell me what happened."

"Can you narrow it down a little?"

Narcissa smiled despite herself. Even now, the girl was going at it like an academic. "Darling, he did it to you more than once?"

"Yes, Mother."

"And you did not protest?"

"No, Mother."

"Did he memory charm you? Give you something to make you not remember?"

Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing. "No, Mother. Sometimes he'd ask me, and then we'd…you know. Or sometimes I would ask him if he wanted to, and so we'd…" She trailed off, seeing the look of horror on her mother in law's face. A second later she was being pressed to the woman's perfumed shoulder, and Narcissa was patting her back.

"Oh, love. You must be confused, because I swore I heard you say you asked him to do that to you."

"I did."

"Whatever for, dearest? I can't imagine a lady wanting that done to herself."

Hermione's cheeks flamed. "Well, because it feels good."

Narcissa, still holding her, patted a bit harder. "To please someone you love? Yes, it does."

"No, I mean—well yes, that's true, but physically, it feels good."

Narcissa stopped patting. She had literally no idea how to respond to that. Taking a breath, she said very gently "You've told me muggles see these things differently, precious. Is that something you learnt from them?"

Hermione froze for a second. "Well, I was raised to believe it should feel good for both people."

"But you know better now, don't you? Ladies simply don't feel that way, do they? So I don't expect to hear you say a thing like that again, do I?"

Hermione wiggled to be released. "I wanted to be honest, Mother."

"And did admirably. But we're teaching you our way of doing things now, and this is part of it. And you told Draco to tell us the truth?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Draco refused?"

"He didn't want to upset you."

Narcissa gently cupped Hermione's cheek. "That's admirable, love, really. But is it either of your place to protect Father and me?"

"No, Mother."

"You might have told me in private, dearest."

"Yes, Mother."

"I think we both know this needs to be taken care of. Stand up for me and take off your robes. Good, now lift your skirts and lie across my lap. Lemmy, fetch my hairbrush. Hands back, there's the love."

Hermione could feel her face burning red. Intellectually, she knew this was normal for wizards, but internally she was mortified. Nineteen and lying over Narcissa Malfoy's lap! No one but Draco had ever seen her this way, and with him, it was different. It had the quality of being sick while lying on warm, well used flannel sheets—the unpleasantness supported by comfort and familiarity and the sense that all would be well soon enough.

Narcissa gently tugged the girl's drawers to her knees, careful to move slowly and give her a comforting pat on the back. So far, this was going smoothly. Draco had done admirably, she thought with a strange pride.

The girl seemed calm enough, but Narcissa saw no reason to stretch the inevitable out, and brought the brush down with a firm 'Smack!'

Draco yelped as his father's hand cracked down on his thigh. He forgot every time how much it hurt. Deep down, he felt better that Father was holding him on his lap, making him feel safe even as he whacked him. He sniffled and bit his lip, determined to take it stoically.

Lucius was having none of it. He angled his thigh up and, tightening his arm about the boy's waist, smacked his sit spots, if not full force, then closer to it than usual. Draco gasped. "FATHEROWWWWW!"

"Stop fighting me, Draco. You know you behaved terribly and this is your consequence."

"Hermione! Can't hear! Upset her!"

"Hermione is currently occupied much as you are. And anyway, it needs to understood that your actions effect both of you. You(**SMACK**)--know(**SMACK**) --better(**SMACK**). That poor child (**SMACK SMACK SMACK**) is confused enough(**SMACK SMACK** **SMACK**) without your appetites (**SMACK SMACK SMACK**) making it harder on her (**SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!**). Not to mention (**SMACK**) you lied to us (**SMACK SMACK SMACK**). What kind of example did you set, Draco, by ordering her to lie? (**SMACK**)

Lucius stopped and let Draco cry it out for a moment, rubbing his back and murmuring to help him calm down. "I understand why you were tempted, Draco, truly. But that doesn't excuse what you did, and we need to address that as well."

Draco nodded and sobbed harder. Father's smackings were horrible, but it the scoldings that really hurt. Lucius rubbed a little harder and winced internally. No matter how often this happened, it never got any easier. He wondered how Draco could derive pleasure from it, from watching the girl sob and hearing her whimper. It was an ugly necessity to him, nothing more.

Still needs must is needs must, and he let Draco have another moment before he gently set him to his feet and helped him tug his trousers back up.

"Go get me the hairbrush, Draco."

Draco stiffened. "F-Father?"

"Now, please."

Hermione had been mortified for all of thirty seconds. Then the pain had set in and she'd forgot everything but making herself lie as still as possible and not fight. Narcissa smacked hard, but inbetween Hermione could hear her talking softly, reassuring her, trying to help her feel better.

**SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK ! SMACK SMACK!**

"All right, darling, Mother is here. These things happen, precious, we don't expect perfect behavior right away."

**SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK ! **

"You made a mistake, and that's to be expected. Draco ought to have known better. And so we'll make sure you know not to do it again, shan't we?"

**SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! **

"And once we're done, you'll be all forgiven, won't you?"

**SMACK SMACK SMACK ! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK **

"Don't hold anything inside, let it all out, everything is all right."

**SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK ! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK ! SMACK SMACK SMACK!**

Narcissa rubbed the girl's back in slow, gentle circles, paying special attention to the place between her shoulders. Hermione was crying softly, seemingly more embarrassed than anything. That struck Narcissa as being distinctly odd. She'd not once cried out, either, or tried to beg off. Not that Narcissa would have approved of having to pin her down, or stick her like a five year old, but she'd expected a little more fuss.

More evidence of her parents' failure, she thought, sighing to herself. The girl was calming after an indecently short time, and even subtly wiggling to get down. Narcissa tugged her dress down in back and helped her stand, immediately putting both arms around her and holding her close.

"Lemmy, get young Madam a nightdress, she'll be having a nap. And salve, and some water."

Lemmy took Hermione behind the dressing screen to apply the salve and dress her. Hermione found she felt sleepy and a little sad. She missed Malfoy; it didn't seem right not to have ended things without her face buried in his neck.

Narcissa was sitting on the bed as she crawled in and laid down on her stomach. Tugging the duvet up, the older witch gently smoothed her daughter in law's hair, meaning to put her to sleep. "Do you need anything, love?"

"No, Mother."

"When you wake up, we'll have a nice chat. There's a girl, just go to sleep. Shhh."

There came a muted knock on the door. Narcissa, knowing whom it would be, took the brush and stood slightly to the side, making sure Draco could see that Hermione was settled in bed and sleeping peacefully.

"Mother? Father sent me for the brush." Draco looked miserable, face streaked with tears, and Narcissa tilted his chin up and kissed his cheeks. "I know, darling. Hurry and it will all be over soon."

Draco sniffled. "Is Hermione all right?"

"Fine, love. She was very brave about the whole thing, too. We'll talk after you've rested." She pushed the brush into his hand and gently closed the door, settling in the chair nearest the bed, where Hermione would see her if she woke and needed to be comforted.

Draco made himself walk quickly back to his room and hand his father the brush, unable to look him in the face. He didn't know what was worse, getting a hairbrush smacking at eighteen or having Hermione know it. Lucius gently took his wrist and moved him closer, unbuttoning the boy's trousers. Draco started to reach up, only to have his father say sternly "Draco." He dropped his hands, red faced, while Father slid his trousers to his knees and tugged him into position, then calmly slide his pants down as well.

Lucius steadied his son with an arm to the waist. Draco groaned, clearly knowing not to dare argue but mortified beyond words all the same. The boy was taking this very well, all things considered. Lucius felt him wriggling very slightly. Poor child, he'd meant no harm. "Now, Draco, why is it necessary that we do this?"

"I lied about Hermione and I, sir."

I'm very disappointed, Draco, that you behaved this way. I understand you felt shy, but you must be strong for both your sakes. She did a very brave, selfless thing by confessing to Mother and I, and I expect you to return the favour by giving her the guidance she needs. I understand your ---tastes---run in this direction, but I'm not sure I think you understand that your job is maintaining discipline, not only over your wife but yourself as well."

He picked up the brush and, tightening his arm, brought it down hard. The boy jumped, gasping, and Lucius, with a silent sigh of regret, went to work.

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT **

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

Lucius put down the brush. Ordinarily, he firmly believed a good lecture helped the message sink in, especially when backed up by the burning agony of his wife's brush, but this time he'd opted to just let the boy contemplate his predicament. Silence too has its uses.

Draco was bawling hard against his thighs, and Lucius said nothing, didn't move except to put his hand on the boy's neck and squeeze rhythmically. After a few minutes the sobs tapered to whimpers and sniffles, and Lucius helped his son stand. Draco embraced him hard and Lucius hugged back, half whispering to calm him down.

"Hush, love, you know we forgive you. I'll call Minky and it will bring your nightclothes and you can rest." Lucius stepped out Draco changed and got into bed. Coming back in, he smoothed the boy's hair, pleased when his son reacted by snuggling into his hand.

Draco mumbled something. "Hmm? Say it again, Draco."

"Don't leave?"

"No, of course not. I'll stay right here until you're asleep." Draco nodded and snuggled into the pillow. "M'ther said H'rme di' well."

"Hmm?"

Draco half rolled over, yawning. "Mother said Hermione did well."

"I've no doubt. You're both very good children, on the whole. I must say, though, I find myself feeling rather badly for Hermione's parents."

"Hmmm?"

Lucius rubbed the boy's back. "Much as I enjoy you as an adult, I rather like the chance to have my little boy back for a few moments."

Draco was exactly awake enough to huff, which prompted a chuckle. "You've never felt that, Draco?"

The boy blushed under his tear stains. "Y'sir. With Hermione, too. She's so sweet after."

"Children always are when they feel like they feel loved and properly cared for, aren't they?" He patted a bit more forcefully, wanting his son to have a good long nap. "Which is why you must contain yourself. In time, she'll always have that feeling with all three of us, if we're consistent with her."

Draco frowned very slightly, mostly sleeping. "I will. It's hard."

Lucius nodded, unseen. "Yes, it is, but I know you can do it." Then he'd just spoke comforting little phrases from Draco's childhood until the boy, worn out, fell asleep. Lucius stayed a few moment more to be sure and then crept out, wanting to find his wife.

A few moments later, ensconced in the library, sipping wine, the two Malfoy parents studied one another. Narcissa looked thoughtful and tired, and Lucius felt a sense of sadness, seeing how his wife had aged in the past few years. She was still the most beautiful woman on earth, but she'd not be made for the stress and horror of the previous years.

"Well, Cissy, how did it go?"

Narcissa considered. "Well, she was very obedient. Couldn't have asked for more."

"But?"

"There was something disconcerting, I think. Too easy." She relayed what had happened, and Lucius nodded along as she spoke. "That is odd. I shall certainly speak to Draco about it."

Hermione woke to Draco's cold hand on her cheek. "Hermione? Precious?"

She smiled up at him. "Cuddle with me?"

He crawled into the bed and held her. His arse was on fire! How did Hermione deal with this so often? She snuggled against him and wrapped her arms around his neck, happy to be with him. "Is something wrong?"

Draco paused. "Darling, may I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course."

"Am I too hard on you?"

She half turned to look at him, and then, having been forcefully reminded what had transpired, gasped and knelt up. "Sorry?"

Father had been there when he woke.

"Draco, Mother was concerned that Hermione seemed a little—quiet. Is that normal for her?"

"Yes. Her pain tolerance is..." He sighed and shrugged, trying to put how he felt into words. "I suppose I've been dealing with it so long it doesn't faze me, but I understand it could be disturbing if one wasn't used to it."

"I've often observed that muggles have a higher pain tolerance than do wizards, moreso especially than witches. Do you suppose that's the problem?"

"Could be. It took her a long time to react the first few times I…you know."

Lucius tried to step lightly. "And this…lack of reaction…would not have led you to be too hard on the girl?"

Draco shook his violently. "No! I mean, no, Father. I was always careful."

"I'm not blaming, love. But this needs to be dealt with."

"Did Mother comfort her after?"

Lucius looked askance at his son. "You have to ask?"

Draco blushed. "Sorry. I mean, it's hard to get through to her sometimes. Did Mother say anything?"

"Not really.

"How did you comfort her the first time?"

Draco got even redder. "Ah, well...I didn't."  
Lucius thought he must have misheard. "Pardon? You say you didn't?"  
"Yes, Father."  
"Oh, Draco."

Hermione stroked Draco's cheek lightly with her hand. "Draco…" She took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third. He still had the thoughtful, intense look on his face.

"Please?"

Far from the beds and salons of Malfoy manor, London police were baffled by a series of gruesome attacks. The victims were killed and…eaten. It was a strange autumn; it had been a strange year. The fog that had covered London had receeded slightly, but the air seemed close and hot and somehow unclean.

George Hamm's customers noticed his hands shook more than usual. He seemed distracted. But at night his hands did not hesitate as he measured and poured and stirred. After, he lay in the dark and wept, knowing he was made midwife to a nightmare. But he did not hesitate.

Nights, Severus Snape sat alone in his dark, musty smelling house. His hand stroked the bandage at his neck, and he pondered the gross improbability of his survival. But all the same, he had pulled his sole pair of dress robes from the closet and cleaned them.

In a house in a suburb of Edinburgh, Galvin Goyle held a weeping Alecto Carrow. The woman's flesh was hot and soft against his. Her tears wet his shirt front. "Jonas! Amycus!" She sobbed, naming lover and brother in the same agonized breath. She'd seen one die and the other get taken, and for the first time she felt alone. Then her mouth was on Galvin's, and they found an anonymous muggle bed and gave one another comfort, as much as stolen moments in stolen beds can. After they sat down to draw up a plan, not speaking of what they'd done and knowing it would come again, and again they would not speak of it.

And Hermione held Draco, and he her, and struggled to find simple answers to complex questions, and was glad she was with him when she did it.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

**Thanks to reviewers.**

**Madea finally let us out, so we've come en masse to visit Countess Black. It's very pleasant here, and unlike some muggles, Countess Black knows how to treat a Malfoy. And those candlesticks will look fine on her mantle. Many thanks to her for having us.**

**Speaking of muggles, Madea borrowed something from that Shakespeare bloke. A chocolate frog to whomever can identify the play.**

**Do leave a note, would you? Mother will be simply crushed if you don't.**

**Draco**

"In the beginning, I was unprepared for some of what you did. It scared me, but I got used to it. And I never felt unsafe in your presence."

"What about now, though? _Do_ I punish you too hard?"

"I don't think so. It hurts and I hate it, but..."

"But?"

" I can usually see why you did it. And like you said, we made an agreement and I have to stick my end." Draco kissed her on the cheek lightly and she snuggled into his chest. Draco made himself sit back and suddenly yelped. "Oww!"

Hermione smiled in a way not wholly benevolent as he reached back to rub, and caught his wrist in hers. "Ah ah ah, I see that, Malfoy."

Draco went still. "You little brat, I ought to--"

She giggled. "Turnabout is fair play. Anyway, it's no more than you do to me on a regular basis."

Draco looked wounded. "That's wholly different."

"Different how?"

"Because you deserve it, of course." Hermione gasped with outrage and pretended to move away. "I never!"

"Hermione Jane! I ought to tell Mother you're telling lies."

"_I'm_ lying! You're the one telling fairy stories."

Draco snorted. "A Malfoy never lies. Prevaricates, squirms, dissembles, misdirects, omits, but never lies."

"You've been practicing that one."

"I've time on my hands. Dangerous thing to give a Slytherin."

"I agree."

Draco couldn't resist picking on his wife a little more. "And besides, you just look so cute like that."

Hermione huffed. "I do not."

"Do so. Squirming and kicking like you think it'll help, with your knickers down around your ankles. You usually kick them off, and that's even cuter. And after is the best of all. Know why?"

"Draco!" Hermione was blushing crimson and hiding her face in his chest, which didn't exactly dissuade Draco. He chuckled and lifted her face lightly by the chin, to kiss the tip of her nose.

"Oh, please. You know you love it."

"You are simply terrible." But she kissed him back and it would have turned into more had something not occurred to Hermione. "Draco?"

"Hmm? These buttons are damned hard to undo, you know that?"

"Have you always had—those urges?"

He stopped and thought. "I suppose. Didn't understand what they were until I was older, of course. Eleven or twelve, probably."

"Then what?"

Draco shrugged. "That night in the library. You?"

"What about me?"

"Granger—Hermione, I mean. You must have had some reaction to the thing."

Hermione got a strange look on her face. It didn't occur to Draco—had never occurred to Draco—that his wife did not see it, as he did, through a haze of erotic nostalgia. After all, everything had turned out all right, hadn't it? They were fine now.

"I was angry."

"Angry? It was only a smacking, love. An earned one, at that, given what you'd been doing."

Hermione made herself breathe deeply. "Try to see it from my perspective, Malfoy. You threatened me, made me swear a Wizard's Oath,and then took my knickers down."

"I explained I was smacking you, didn't I?"

"That's hardly better! You humiliated me. And it hurt."

"But what about now?"

"Now? It's—I mean—it's us. However I felt about it then…we've both changed, haven't we?"

"For whatever it's worth, Hermione, if I had it to do again…"

Hermione leant up to cup his face. "It's all right, sweet."

"I'd still take you over my knee. But I'd hug you after. Or something."

Hermione huffed loudly. "How very sensitive of you."

"I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys don't do sensitive. But I, for one, have the cure for all this serious talk."

"Do I want to know?"

He picked her up and carried her toward their bedroom. "I'll give you something to make you forget everything."

Hermione laughed. "Everything? Oh dear."

"Well, not everything. Can't have you forgetting how to say my name, can we?"

As they were speaking a flock of owls had risen from the house and winged toward points far flung, toward Nottingham and Glasgow and Cardiff and everywhere else. The invitations to the great ball were sent, and many in Wizarding Britain waited with baited breath to see whether they'd made the cut.

One certainly did. Harry Potter, sitting in the parlour of Grimmald place, stared at the invitation in silent horror. "I haven't the slightest idea what to get them." Beside him, Kreacher shook his head gently. "Kreacher is going, Master. Kreacher is getting nice gift, very nice gift for young Master Malfoy and his wife."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Kreacher. What do you have in mind?"

"Kreacher is thinking perhaps Lemmy's head."

Harry blinked. "What? I thought you said…"

"The young Master Malfoy is needing decorations. House elf heads were being good enough for The Mistress." Whenever Kreacher referred to Walburga, Harry could just hear the capitalization in the elf's voice. He smiled adoringly, and a chill ran Harry's spine.

"Kreacher, we can't behead Malfoy's own elf to give him. It wouldn't be right."

"Lemmy is being bad elf, Master. Would be a kindness."

"I couldn't get into the manor anyway, it's warded too heavily."

"Oh no, Kreacher would be going. House elves is slipping in easily."

"I really don't think that's a good idea. How about a vase?"

Kreacher looked crestfallen. "Would being boring! Must get the young Master Malfoy something special. The Mistress would be wanting it." That was, to Kreacher, the ultimate measure of a given thing, and the perfect argument ender.

"Well, you give them one gift, and I'll give another. Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master?"

"You're not to decapitate anything, understand?"

Kreacher nodded sadly. "We is not cutting off heads." His mind, however, was working and he thought he'd found the perfect gift.

In the Burrow, Ron Weasley was staring at the envelope in front of him. Molly had opened hers and Arthur's. "Ron, don't you want to open yours, love?"

"No, Mum." He swallowed hard and stood to go outside, never seeing Arthur following after. Standing on the stoop, breathing the cool, damp air, Ron heard the door close and turned to see his Dad.

"Are you all right, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. " I can't believe she's married him. And now she wants me to go and celebrate with them? I won't do it."

Arthur put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I understand you're frustrated, Ron, but you have to go. We were invited."

"Dad, I can't!"

Arthur looked Ron directly in the eye as he talked. "Hermione is your friend, Ron. You can't abandon her because you don't like her choices. She's having a very hard go of things right now, and she needs to know we still care."

"But it's Malfoy! You hate Lucius worse than I do. He tried to kill Ginny!"

"And saved your life, Ron. At the very least, we must go and thank them for that."

"But Dad…"

Arthur sighed. "At your age, you must think the world has ended. But you aren't the only one to have suffered with this, Ronald. Fred is gone. Bill is disfigured. George lost his twin. But do any of them complain? Are they sulking about this way? And your mother. Molly's suffered as much as anyone, perhaps more. She's lost people in two wars. You haven't lost anyone, and still you're complaining."

Ron blinked a tear. "Dad, I…"

Arthur gave his youngest son a hug. "Why don't you go and rest, hmm? Mum'll call you for dinner."

So he did, and when he came down he had a small sack of coins which he gave his father. "For my part of the gift. I'm going to go."

Hermione stretched lazily and grumbled as Draco rested his head on her shoulder blade. "Would you like some salve?"

"Hmmm?"

"Salve, Draco. Shall I ask Lemmy to bring some?"

Draco lay down to face her, looked affronted. "You got salve? How did that happen?"

Hermione sighed dramatically and mock swooned. "I'm just so frail and delicate, I suppose Mother thought it a good idea."

Draco wrinkled his nose and huffed. "I never!"

"I was going to ask if you'd like to go again, but since I'm feeling fragile, I guess we ought to just chat."

Draco lightly swatted her arse, muttering dire threats mixed with complaints about the general unfairness of life. He finally nodded, still grumbling, and allowed Hermione to call the elf to bring salve and pumpkin juice for them.

The elf decided that her children were also in need of a snack to replenish their energy, and so when Lucius happened to see her carrying a tray loaded with salve pumpkin juice, fruit and whipped cream, he raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Seeing his face, Narcissa said worriedly "Everything all right?"

"I should think."

"Is it the children?"

"Isn't it always?"

"Should we go upstairs?"

"Probably not."

"Do I want to know?"

"No."

"Lucius?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's never speak of this again."

"Quite."

Both having eaten, Hermione pulled the top of the jar off and motioned for Draco to roll over. He hesitated. "I think I'm all right."

"Malfoy."

"Really, I am."

Hermione snorted. "Draco, you aren't embarrassed?"

His pink ears told the whole story. She giggled, poking his ribs lightly and giving him a kiss. "Sweet, you've seen me this way a million times."

"I know."

"That's the problem, isn't it? You aren't comfortable with the role reversal."

Draco looked away. "Promise not laugh?"

She nodded solemnly while he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, pretending not to feel her hand on his bum as she smoothed the salve on. It eased the burning sting tremendously, and he felt himself relaxing all over. He'd never, never deny Hermione salve again ever…unless she did something especially naughty. That was different.

Hermione smoothed some on her husband's thighs, feeling the heat under her palm. "Is that better?"

"I, ah, yes. Much. Are you done?"

"No." Hermione capped the jar and sat back, appreciating the view. She still didn't understand Draco's visceral pull toward that sort of thing, but it was oddly sweet, to see Draco so vulnerable.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

"Are you done?"

"I don't know. You _do_ look awfully cute this way." She giggled as Draco rolled over and reached for her, scooted back just out of reach. "Should I continue?"

"Certainly not! You're just lucky I'm not feeling up to addressing this issue at the moment."

Hermione grinned just as Leesy appeared. "Young Master and young Madam is being requested downstairs. The replies is coming in."

In Grimmald Place, Harry watched as Kreacher tied the twine on his gift to Hermione. He'd looked hard, and narrowed it down to a goblin made bud vase in purple. He felt good about it. It seemed right.

He turned to Ginny, who'd come over. She kissed his cheek."What're your parents getting her?"

"This set of hideous candlesticks great-great aunt Clothilde left us a while back. It is Malfoy, after all."

Kreacher picked up his parcels and made to leave. Unfortunately, the 'pop!' woke Mrs. Black, who yawned and said sharply "You, Halfblood, where is Kreacher going?"

"Harry, Walburga. My name is Harry."

"I don't care what your name is! And you, blood traitor, why are you here?"

"We're to be married. Get used to it."

"Kreacher left to bring my wedding gift to Malfoy manor."

"Oh? Why is that? Has my grand-nephew married? Who is she? A Pureblood, no doubt."

"Er, actually, it's Hermione."

"The mudblood? My great-nephew has married a mudblood? Cygnus' grandson has married a mudblood?"

"Well, yes, but they've been---"

"HOW DARE YOU SPEW THESE LIES, YOU FILTHY WRETCH?"

"They aren't lies! They got married a few weeks ago and I'm going to the ball to celebrate."

"It's true. Look' Ginny held up the invitation for the wedding and Mrs. Black read it.

"OH! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME AND ETERNAL SHAME! NOTHINGBUT SHAME!"

"STOP IT!" Startled, Mrs. Black stopped howling and looked at Ginny, who stood and approached the painting.

"No one wants to hear it, Walburga. Hermione is worth ten of you, easily, and you know why? Because people like her. They love her. I love her, and so does Harry. So did Sirius, and Remus, and everyone else who died because of people like you. Even your own children hated your guts, you racist cow, so why don't you just—shut—up?"

In life, no one had ever dared tell Walburga off. She was so shocked she forgot to say anything. In the silence, Harry pulled Ginny against himself and kissed her. "I love it when you're feisty, Gin."

"I know."

And even when they kissed again, Mrs. Black didn't say anything.

Dressed, they came downstairs to find a large pile of parcels sitting on a table in the salon, along with a madly grinning elf in a filthy teatowel, holding a bulky, badly wrapped parcel in its withered hands.

"Kreacher?"

"Young master Malfoy! Young madam! You is remembering Kreacher!"

"How have you been, Kreacher? How's Harry?"

"Master is being very well. He is allowing Kreacher to give a special gift to the young master and madam to celebrate their marriage."

"Would you like to stay while we open the gifts?"

"Kreacher would like that! Will young madam open the others first?"

Lucius motioned for the children to sit on the swan's down poufs on the other side of the table, they being the softest, and handed Hermione the first package.

"What's this?"

"Your wedding gifts. People who wish to come have responded to our invitations with gifts to show they support your marriage. Open it, love. Minky, write down the name and what the gift was." Minky took up a quill and Hermione carefully untied the twine.

Over the next hour, the happy couple received things from friends and family, well wishers and politicians. The Goyles sent a beautiful cake, Andromeda a set of new quills, and the Weasleys a pair ofgrotesque candlesticks in pewter, shaped like Grindylows. Even Teddy sent a parchment on which he'd been allowed to scribble as a show of affection.

"I can't imagine what possessed Molly and Arthur to give us these."

"Well, they'll look smashing at the bottom of the hole I'm having dug for them."

"Draco!"

Finally it was time for Harry and Kreacher's gifts. Hermione carefully undid the twine and smiled. "Oh, how pretty." Harry had chosen a blown glass vase in purple, Hermione's favorite colour. She showed it to everyone and gently set it aside, vowing to fill it at the first chance.

Kreacher beamed as Lucius handed over the gift. Wrapped thickly in brown paper, it had a strange, irregular shape. Loosening the paper, Hermione pulled it away, only to hear Narcissa gasp with horror.

"Blippy?"

It was a head. Mounted, the eyes stared sightlessly from the wrinkled face. Kreacher, still beaming, said proudly "Is Kreacher's gift! Young madam is liking?"

"It's…very kind of you, Kreacher."

Narcissa looked traumatized. "It's Blippy! Blippy was Mother's maid when I was a child."

"Oh, yes. When Madam Druella was joining the ancestors, she is giving Blippy to The Mistress. The Mistress is thinking after a few years that Blippy is getting too old, so she is allowing her to join the heads on the wall. Someday Kreacher is being there, too." His misty eyes gave no doubt that he greatly anticipated being beheaded and stuffed.

"Well' said Lucius, trying to lighten the morbid mood 'I suppose we could always use it as a sweets dish."

"Lucius! It isn't funny. I have very fond memories of Blippy."

"Oh no, madam! Blippy would being happy to serve in any way. Blippy would be loving to be used as sweets dish."

Hermione smiled sweetly at Kreacher. "Wouldn't you rather we just buried her, Kreacher?

Kreacher wailed."Kreacher is bad elf! Please don't be burying Blippy! Kreacher is loving Blippy! Blippy is being our mate!"

Leesy Apparated into the room to see what all the noise was and shrilled gleefully. "Kreacher!"

"Leesy!"

"You know one another?"

Leesy nodded. "Kreacher is being mate to Leesy's mother at the end of it's life."

Then she caught sight of the head. "Blippy!" She flung her arms about the head and began to kiss the wrinkled brow, howling.

Draco lowered his voice and leant into Hermione's ear. "Just thank them for the damned thing and we'll vanish it."

Elves, unfortunately, have very acute hearing and so both of them began to screech protests. "No! No! Is Leesy's mother!"

"Blippy was being good elf! Deserved to have head mounted! Please, young madam!"

Hermione looked at Narcissa, who was leaning with elegant languor against the arm of the divan she was occupying with her husband. No help to be had here, clearly.

"I suppose we could put it, ah…"

"In bedroom? Blippy would be liking to live in the young master and madam's bedroom."

Hermione looked away."No, not right now. Maybe in your sleeping area,Leesy?"

"Yes, in bedroom."

"Or the wardrobe? Would that be all right?"

Leesy nodded, ecstatic, and began to sob with pleasure at the idea. Taking the head, she Apparated away.

An owl thumped the window and Kreacher swiftly went and opened it. A ragged looking barn owl swooped in and dropped a parcel, screeching, before it flew out just as fast. The thing had landed directly in Hermione's lap and she picked it up slowly, feeling a faint warmth and…wetness?

Draco took it from her hand and slowly drew the string away. He knew, at some level, what he would find, but he wasn't prepared for the wave of dizzying that overtook him as the paper fell away and the smell hit him. Narcissa, having just got over the shock of seeing Blippy's head, took one look at the parcel's contents and swiftly fainted.

Gagging, he turned aside as Hermione swiftly took it back, wrapping it loosely and shoving it at Kreacher. "Take this and do something with it, Kreacher. The aurors will want to see."

Lucius,a little white in the face but still composed, slit the seal on the letter." Soon" it said, the smell leaving no doubt as to the medium. He quietly closed it and set it aside, calling for smelling salts for Narcissa and calming draughts for everyone.

The aurors came and could give no help. "Well' said one of them 'I reckon we know what would happened to Fletcher." They had to restrain Hermione from hexing him, and then they left.

That night, Hermione carefully arranged the new quills in Harry's vase. Teddy's drawing had been hung proudly on the near wall, to torment him with when he was older.

"You know, I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep with a severed head in our wardrobe."

"I have a cure for that."

"You've an endless supply of those, haven't you, Draco?"

"Bottomless. Come to bed."

In London, Bellatrix was laughing, sprawled on a bed in the townhouse. Greyback poked his head in and snorted. "Finally lost your mind?"

"The hell with you." She sat up, still chortling, and stood. "Think they liked their wedding gift?"

He smirked. "Oh, yes. She'll like what I have for her even better."

"Not if Narcissa's been training her properly."

"How d'you know it was today?"

She rolled her eyes. "What good is Wormtail if we can't use him?"

"And you're sure he's safe?"

"As long as he keeps his wits about him"

Also in Malfoy manor, Lucius and Narcissa were chatting. "What about a wand stand, then? It's not doing any good just hanging in the dark."

"No, Lucius. No wand stand."

"Cissy, darling, do be fair. No one else would have a house elf sweets dish."

"Lucius, if I should find you eating sweets from that elf's head, I shall be very cross with you."

In Nottingham, Andromeda Tonks heard a faint scraping in her wall and thought nothing of it. She'd put down bait, was all. Perhaps she ought to take Cissy up on her offer of a house elf. Everyone knows how they hate rats.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

**Darlings,**

**What a busy few weeks! We had a splendid time with Madea at Countess Black's, and then to plan a ball in so short a period... I feel quite faint with all the excitement. Anyway, we had a wonderful visit. Countess Black truly is the best sort of muggle, and her various pets were very sweet. Mr. Malfoy and I even quite liked her muggle gentleman friend (not that we approve on principal, of course).**

** The one hitch in our plans was our hostess' persistent refusal to display the lovely Grindylow candlesticks we gave her on the mantle. She'll realize we know best soon enough, I daresay.**

** Do leave me a note, won't you? I know you will.**

**Narcissa Malfoy**

Draco sighed and tugged the damned cravat a bit to the left. It was no good, he'd decided, and left his room to find Father. He could hear giggles and soft talk from the door of Mother's room and shuddered slightly, imagining what sorts of feminine caballing was going on.

Lucius heard the knock at his door and opened it to find his son, looking a little flustered, cravat hanging. "Good evening, Draco."

"Good evening, Father."

"Has Minky abandoned you, love? I notice your cravat is off."

"I, ah, rather sent it away. I wonder if you wouldn't mind?"

Lucius smiled. "Of course not. I always did before dinner parties, remember?"

Draco nodded, smiling right back. "It looks nicest when you do it."

Lucius tilted his son's head and made the necessary adjustments, taking care. Draco's hair was carefully slicked down, and a faint smell of cologne and pomade drifted from his person. "Draco?"

"Yes, Father?"

"You've been stealing my cologne again."

"I prefer to think of it as borrowing, Father."

"And Arthur Weasley thinks of himself as an adequate provider, no doubt, but that doesn't make it true. I don't much mind. This is a very special night."

Draco nodded, flushing. " Hermione's been very excited, certainly. She invited all her friends, even Loony Lovegood."

"Will there be an incident, do you think?"

"Well, I've told Lirry to start adding double champagne to the punch at midnight. Whether it will help is to be seen."

Lucius laughed, a startling sight for someone not used to it. Draco was, and he laughed as well. Lucius sobered slightly and pulled something from his waistcoat pocket. "Speaking of which, I thought you might like to wear these tonight."

Draco opened the box and gasped. "Father?"

"Go on, Draco. I want them back, by the way. It's a loan, understand?"

Draco nodded and handed the stickpin and sleeve buttons to his father to hold for a moment. The buttons were pearls, huge and flawless, but the centerpiece was the pin. It was also a pearl, but on top, a little snake had been cast in gold, with intricate scales of diamond chip and emerald. It writhed sinuously atop the pearl, tiny and almost disconcertingly lifelike.

"Since it will be yours someday, I thought perhaps you'd like to test it out a bit."

Draco took great care in donning the items. There was still an hour before the guests were due to arrive, so he and Lucius took a glass of wine in Lucius' sitting room. It was happily, blessedly quiet. Draco would remember it later and shudder, but at that moment he was well pleased.

Hermione was chatting with Narcissa as Leesy braided her hair and pinned it. Narcissa had let Hermione borrow anything she liked from her jewel box, and out of all of her many, many diamonds and sapphires and rubies, the girl had chosen only a fine net for her hair, studded with tiny garnets.

"Mother?"

"Yes, love?"

"Do you have my bracelet? The one Draco gave me? And my locket?"

Narcissa nodded and took it from the velvet pouch she'd tucked them in. "I'm surprised we kept forgetting them."

"I'd always remember and then it would slip my mind. Draco and I have been working so hard on legilimency, I suppose it just got pushed aside."

She slid the bracelet up her arm again and felt really dressed for the first time in a month, as Narcissa taught her how to unward the locket and clasped it about her neck. A soft knock at the door told them Andromeda had arrived. Both women stood as Andromeda, carrying Teddy, dressed in deep maroon, eyes twinkling.

"Cissy, I had to fight your elves tooth and nail to be allowed to carry my own grandson. I think they're arguing as we speak about who gets to sing him his lullaby. I think Tibby will win, but that Lemmy seems like a tough one."

Narcissa laughed and took the baby. "I daresay. How have you been, Meddie?"

"Same as always. Hermione, love, you look splendid. How are you?"

"I'm well, Andromeda." She took Teddy from Narcissa and kissed his little nose, prompting a giggle from the baby, who crowed disapprovingly when he realized that Cousin's hair wasn't down for him to tug. He settled for nuzzling her shoulder and playing with the folds of her robe.

"Actually, Cissy, I was wondering whether your offer to lend me a house elf still stood. I've been hearing noises in the walls at night."

Narcissa grimaced delicately. "Rats! Oh, darling, of course it does. I'll send, hmm…Hermione? Which elf do you think we should send?"

Hermione answered so quickly both women laughed. "Leesy, Mother."

"You don't mind losing your maid until we can convince Andromeda she's moving in here?"

"Now, Cissy, let's don't start that tonight."

Narcissa, who'd been the baby and pet of her family, smiled serenely. "All right, Meddie." There was absolutely no doubt in her mind she'd get her way in this, but if her sister wanted to play stubborn, Narcissa would indulge her for a little while.

"Let's have the elves bring some of Draco's old toys for him to play with. I remember, there was a wooden coach Draco liked very much that was enchanted to…"

The women settled down to chat, relaxing in one another's company in the muted quiet of the house.

Kreacher did the final curl in the young Miss' hair and carefully set the tiara in. The Master was already waiting, wearing in his best dress robes, checking his pocket watch nervously. Ginny stood and grinned. "It's wonderful, Kreacher. Thank you."

A tear glided down the elf's cheek. "Miss is being welcome." As much as Kreacher had resisted the idea at first, it pleased him that Master was taking a bride. It had been too long since he'd had a baby to love and spoil. The house would ring with children's laughter and games. He felt younger just thinking about it.

Harry grinned as Ginny came down the stairs. "Gin, you look…Merlin."

"Thanks, love. Ready if you are."

Harry motioned her first into the Floo. "Malfoy manor!"

After they'd left, Kreacher tidied everything up and decided to nap on his favorite ottoman in the parlour. He was very old, and his bones twanged something awful these days. A child was exactly what he needed. It was too quiet. And then, abruptly, it wasn't.

Ron tugged the collar of his robes nervously. It had started him momentarily when Ginny had crossed the room on Harry's arm, laughing at something he'd said. There's something unnatural in seeing your little sister like that, he thought. Ginny was supposed to be a shy, scabby little pest, not a grown woman with her hair up and a fiancé. It wasn't right.

Harry and Ron shook hands. "You all right, mate? You look pale."

Ron nodded as bravely as he could. "Yeah, fine. Want to get some punch?"

"If Ginny doesn't mind."

Ginny snorted. "Go on, then. I'll be perfectly content right here." She directed her gaze at the paintings on the wall of the salon and made herself forget where they were. She was here for Hermione, she reminded herself. Everything would be fine.

But all the same, she gripped her wand in the folds of her robes and breathed deeply.

Ron was drinking his glass of punch when the door opened and Lucius and Narcissa swept in. They approached immediately. Holding out his hand, Lucius shook with both boys. "So glad you could make it. How have you been?"

After a few moments of increasingly less awkward small talk, the doors opened again and Ron made himself set the cup down carefully. There was Malfoy, with Hermione on his arm, radiant in dark blue and giggling at something Malfoy had just said.

He swallowed desperately and looked away. He hoped his heart was breaking quietly.

Molly and Arthur arrived shortly after, and within a half hour the salon was crowded with friends and well wishers. Hermione could hardly keep most of them straight, but it moved her to see that her friends had come to give her their blessing, as much as they might not approve. The alcohol added to the general merriment, and the room was a blur of colour and laughing people.

"Ron! You came!"

"Hermione. You look nice." She looked glorious, actually, but he didn't want to risk a run in with Malfoy on his home ground. Hermione smiled and patted his arm. "How have you been?"

"Good. Are you happy?"

"Very. What have you been up to?"

"Going to work in the store in September. George needs help since Fred--" He looked away and Hermione embraced him. "It's all right, Ron."

Draco saw his wife hugging the Weasel and stepped closer to investigate. "Everything all right?"

"Fine, Draco.' Hermione dropped her voice and explained. "Ah. I see." He thought it prudent to step back but Weasley grabbed his arm. "A word, Malfoy?"

"Darling, why don't you go and meet Madam Crabbe?" Hermione nodded and discreetly left them to their conversation. Weasley let go of his arm but stepped even closer.

"Something the matter, Weasley, or did you want to get me alone because you fancy me?"

"Nothing's wrong. But Malfoy, if you ever hurt her, I'll see you die a slow death, understand?"

Draco blinked. Weasley looked very serious and slightly lethal. " Your devotion would be rather more touching if I thought you meant it a bit less literally."

"I'm not joking you. She says she's happy and I believe her, but if she ever tells me she isn't and you're to blame… or I find out you've been with another woman…or you make her cry…"

Draco felt slightly moved. He had the idea Weasley was still carrying a candle for Hermione, but he seemed sincerely concerned with her happiness. Draco inclined his head. "I'll be the husband she deserves. I promise you that."

"You'd best." Weasley stepped back and nodded once. "Think I'll go and find Harry, then."

"You do that." Bemused, Draco watched him go. Perhaps Weasley wasn't quite as abysmally stupid as he seemed. Perhaps.

Kreacher was ripped from a pleasant dream by the hiss of the Floo. He put his head up in time to see a man's head appear. "Sir? How is Kreacher helping?"

"I'm George Hamm. Perhaps you remember me?"

Kreacher nodded. "Yes, Master Hamm, we is remembering. Is something being wrong?"

"I need to speak to Mr. Potter. It's very important. May I step through?"

Kreacher frowned. "Master is not being here, but Kreacher is helping. Please be stepping through, sir."

Hamm did, but to Kreacher's horror he wasn't the only one. "Hello, Kreacher.' Bellatrix Lestrange said with a smile. "I'm afraid we'll need to borrow the house for a little while." Kreacher was preparing to Apparate for help when the stunner hit him, and he tumbled into the dark.

The Death Eaters fanned out. "And now what?"

Greyback grinned and took the leather satchel from the old man's shaking hand, clawed it open and extracted the precious parcel all wrapped in twine. "I shall drink to your health, dear Bella."

"Do whatever, just get us in there."

He smirked and patted Pettigrew's shoulder. "I'll send Wormtail directly. Come, Wormtail." They Apparated off and the remaining Death Eaters settled down to wait for the signal. It was time, sang Bellatrix's blood, her heart, her very bones. It was time.

The men appeared in a clearing deep in Wales. Ragged looking people drifted from the tree line. Greyback raised a fist and roared, and they roared back, a sound that made Wormtail's blood run like ice water, made his bowels feel squirmy and loose.

Greyback silently handed out the phials. This was simply the vanguard, his first and finest. They drank is silence. Greyback eyed them critically. "Bendleg, come here."

A male stepped forth and groveled. "Try to change. Feel the beast inside yourself."

For a long moment nothing happened. Then the male's face twisted with agony and he dropped to all fours, panting. Greyback turned and shoved Wormtail. "Go, fool, and tell them it's worked. Now!"

Thanking whatever deity had heard his pleas, Wormtail left. As he did he heard the first howl break the night air, and the wolf song which answered it, and was afraid.

In the manor, supper was over. Draco elbowed Hermione and suggested at a whisper that they go onto the terrace for a bit of air. Leaving the happy confusion, they walked into the night. Hermione buried her face in his chest and sighed. "I've never been so happy."

Draco bent his head and breathed the smell of her hair. "I know what you mean."

An awkward cough at the door. "Oi, Draco. Hermione."

They leapt apart. "Greg. What awful timing you have."

"Sorry, mate. Wanted to give you my present." He handed a little parcel to Hermione and another to Draco, looking at his feet. Draco found himself unable to raise much ire, knowing how little pocket money Greg got.

"Oh, Greg, you didn't have to. Antigone sent us that lovely cake."

"Wanted you to have something special from Millie and me." He waited expectantly, and quite against the rules of etiquette, they found themselves opening their parcels. Hermione's contained a handkerchief, embroidered with lumpy flowers. "Millie made it especially. She wanted to be here, but her auntie is poorly. A bad case of furunculus, she says."

Hermione exclaimed over it and tucked it in her robes' pocket, heartened by the sign of affection from her husband's friends. Perhaps everything would be all right after all. Draco opened his and smiled. "Where did you find this?"

"Vince's Mam gave it to me." Hermione looked down and saw a picture of three little boys, arms about each others' shoulders, laughing at something. She grinned and gave Draco a friendly little poke on the arm. "How old were you?"

"Seven? Eight? We had a good time, in those days."

Greg nodded. "That's true. Almost time to start dancing. Should we go in?"

"You go, Greg. We'll be in just after." As soon as he was gone, Hermione reached up to kiss Draco quickly on the lips. "I'm not much of a dancer."

Draco snorted. "Wouldn't have guessed, love. Just follow my lead." He dropped his mouth to her ear. "This is the first event we've ever had that I didn't warm your arse properly beforehand. Don't like this precedent, I must say."

Hermione grinned into his neck. "I don't mind, Draco."

"Of course you don't. But I mind. I happen to think my little girl needs a hot bottom to remind her to behave herself during these things. I suppose a good bedtime smacking will have to serve."

"I've been good. I was even nice to Parkinson."

"Yes, well. I want to keep you that way, so I'll smack you with my hand, and then perhaps a little corner time. But if you behave, I could surely be convinced to help you fall asleep."

Hermione giggled and they walked toward the ballroom.

Severus Snape, wearing a pair of rusty black dress robes, found himself face to face with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. "Good evening, Mr. Potter. I expect you'd like to see me in Hell."

Harry turned at the cold, slow voice and stared expressionlessly for a moment. Beside him, Ginny had gone still. " I have no idea how I feel, Professor. Seems to me that there's a case to

be made for just about any feeling you could name."

"Most interesting. I usually do not associate you with waffling and half answers."

Harry dropped his voice. "I don't want a scene, Snape. It's a party, for Merlin's sake."

Snape ignored him. "I am not, Potter, a man much given to effusive expressions and sentiment, but I feel as though I ought to allow myself the luxury.' He dropped his voice a bit lower

and said simply 'I know it was you who intervened with that commission for me, Potter. I owe you my thanks."

Snape turned and nodded once at Ginny. "Good evening, Miss Weasley. Remember me to your parents. Or don't." He turned and walked swiftly away without another word. The

bandages at his neck seemed bright in the candle light.

Lucius stood and clinked a glass. The talk died down to a murmur as Draco and Hermione took their places in the center of the parquet floor. The elves struck up a waltz. The two began

to move in a swirl of purple and black silks. They looked deliriously happy and young and in love.

Beside Andromeda, Narcissa was dabbing her eyes with a scrap of silk and lace from the folds of her robes. She leant gently against Meddie's shoulder, happy to have her sister back.

Teddy had been duly passed around and admired before a whole herd of elves, sobbing with pleasure, had taken him to the nursery to be ensconced on a velvet mattress.

After a moment, Galten cut in. Draco ceded gracefully and approached Narcissa. "May I have this dance, Mother?" Narcissa gave her son her hand and they stepped to the floor and picked up the waltz without missing a beat.

Lucius went to Antigone, who put out a pudgy hand without a word. Within moments, the floor was alive with fingures in emerald and cyan and maroon and seafoam, dancing and laughing. Narcissa was trying to stem the flow of her tears, unable to believe she was dancing at her little boy's wedding feast.

Galten said nothing for a long time. "So. Malfoy's treating you well?"

"Yes, of course he is. They all are."

He nodded. "Good. Tiggy and I, we're always here if you need us. You know, to talk to or…something." Galten was a good deal smarter than either his father or brother, but he loathed talking about feelings and dancing both.

Lucius found himself slightly discomforted by the intensity of the gaze Antigone Goyle was giving him. It had no lust in it; only he felt watched. Few people dared to watch Lucius Malfoy. Finally she said "Thank you."

"For what, my dear?"

"You paid my bride price so Galten and I could wed."

Lucius said nothing. "I was a Mallow, sir. We always remember a good turn."  
He smiled slightly and bowed as the dance ended. "You might come to wish you had forgot, Antigone, if things become difficult due to this match."

She shook her head. "A promise was made, sir, and we mean to keep it, Galten and Greg and I. And Father Goyle, too, when he…returns."

"Of course." She stepped back, bobbed like a school girl and went to find her husband. Lucius found Andromeda and was startled to see her talking to Kingsley Shaklebolt. And blushing, ever so slightly. 'Don't I have some interesting gossip for Cissy.'

The gifts had been set up on a long table at the end of the room, and while the young people danced, the older people gravitated down to look the gifts over and subtly make sure their offering had been set in a place that would show it to advantage.

Absent was Harry's vase and Teddy's picture, along with Andromeda's beautiful quills. Hermione had explained to each (except Teddy, who'd been more interested in the chain about her neck) that she'd been using their gifts nonstop and hated to risk them even to move. Both had understood and been flattered enough not to mind.

The grindylow candlesticks, rescued from the hole Draco had indeed had dug for them, were shining front and center. Hermione found Molly and Arthur looking at the gifts and excitedly approached. She'd just found all her teachers, even Hagrid, who'd combed his hair and everything. His gift, thankfully, had been a book about magical creatures and not something that spat venom or worse.

"Molly! Arthur! It's been forever!"

Molly swept the girl into a hug. "It has! How are you, dear?' She put her lips to Hermione's ear 'They aren't being beastly, are they?"

"Molly! Of course not. They're lovely. Come and meet my in-laws."

She took Molly by the hand and, Arthur trailing after, went to find Narcissa. She was sipping punch, cheeks flushed. She beamed when she saw Hermione and even smiled at Molly.

"You remember Molly Weasley, Mother?"

"Of course. How good of you to come. Are you enjoying yourselves?"

"Yes, thank you. I quite liked those salmon puffs. Mine are always too dry."

Narcissa nodded. "I shall ask Lirry for the receipe for you. It's such a challenge, isn't it, to..." Leaving the two women chatting, Hermione slipped away, feeling she'd won some sort of small victory. She caught Draco's eye, standing with a tall weedy boy she felt sure was Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. She moved closer, meaning to thank them for coming, when she heard her husband speaking in a low, intense voice.

"I said. Take. ."

"No. Your wife is a filthy mudblood whore, and you've lowered all of us by marrying her."

Draco's hands clenched into fists. Nott, sensing trouble, stepped between the two. "Come on, fellows, there's no need for…"

"Stay out of this, Nott. What do you know about lowering us, Zabini? Your mother's on husband five? Six?"

"She wouldn't marry a mudblood--"

"No, she marries old men for their money. So much better."

Zabini lunged, and Draco drew on him. The band abruptly broke off and silence descended like a shroud to pall the festivities at once. Lucius stepped forward. "Is there a problem, Draco?"

"There certainly is. Zabini has seen fit to insult the younger Madam Malfoy. I invoke my right to challenge him over this slur to my wife's honour."

Zabini stood up straighter. "Fine. Polynices Parkinson, would you stand with me against this…abomination?"

A tall, thin young man stepped forth. "I will."

Draco faced the crowd. "Gregory Goyle, will you stand with me against this man's insult to my wife?"

"I will." Greg looked murderous, to put it mildly. Beside him, Galten smiled with terrible anticipation and cracked his knuckles, and his wife quietly began to work her way around the perimeters of the crowd.

Lucius stood and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Anyone who feels the same about my daughter in law, or this marriage, or anything else, declare yourself now or hold yourselves oathbound to friendship with the Malfoy family."

Ron and Harry, followed closely by Ginny and the Weasleys, were shoving through the crowd. They stood behind Hermione, all of them, joined a second later by Antigone, Luna and her father, Neville and Augusta. Galten and Greg, Snape and Minerva McGonagall, Hagrid, who looked at least as angry as Galten and maybe more, Trelawney, Andromeda, Sprout. Theo Nott, after a moment, Flitwick and the Delacour family, who'd come all the way from Marseilles. "That's settled, then. Wands at dawn?"

"Fine."

"Zabini?"

"Yes?"

"If you didn't want to come, why did you?"

"I thought I could convince you to abandon this madness. I was your friend, Draco." He joined hands with Pansy and they left, trailed by her family and his. Everyone else had stayed.

Hermione had tears running down her face. Antigone pulled her into a rather rough embrace and began stiffly patting her back. "There there. 'S'all right."

"No, you don't understand. I'm not upset. I'm happy."

Draco raised an eyebrow and wondered whether it had been too much for the poor love. "Happy, Hermione?"

"We have such good friends, Draco. So many people who—people who--" She sniffled and rested her head on Antigone's shoulders for a moment and then stepped back. "Let's have a game!"

"A game?"

"To lighten the mood. Tibby, would you ask the elves to arrange the chairs in a large circle? Mother, may we use the phonograph from the yellow drawing room?" Within five minutes she'd explained musical chairs, and in another few everyone was trying to forget the ugliness of what had happened.

Music and merriment, perhaps a trifle forced, echoed through the hall, and Narcissa found occasion to whisper a word in praise in her daughter in law's ear when she found her taking a break. "You were very brave, love."

"We all were. Guess we don't have to worry about a gift for their wedding, do you?"

Narcissa laughed and then joined in the game. Everything was calm, and outside it was silent.

No one saw the little grey head which poked from the wall and then vanished atop one of the beams along the sides of the room. No one saw the rat scurry from the house, creep outside and duck under the wards to transform. In human form, he would have been ejected at once, every alarm on the property screeching, but as a rat, he could do much. And what he'd heard had been most interesting, yes, very interesting indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

**Happy birthday, Countess Black!**

**Our darling girl has her birthday today, so my wife and son and I wish to extend every felicitation. We couldn't put up with Madea without her.**

** Lucius Malfoy, feeling quite celebratory.**

Hermione finally stopped pretending at four thirty. Beside her, her husband lay sleepless, traveling his own internal byways. When he felt her move, he said quietly "Want to know something funny?"

"What's that?"

"I couldn't have killed Dumbledore if I'd wanted to. I didn't want to, but it took a few months of living with Bellatrix for me to have enough hatred inside me even to seriously contemplate it. Killing someone, I mean."

His eyes were dim with remembering as he went into the secret places in his mind, the inner rooms he'd consigned to perdition. Hermione picked up her wand, looked into Draco's eyes, breathed 'legilimens'.

_Draco finds her sleeping on the divan. His hands have not stopped shaking since last night. A series of images have impressed themselves on his consciousness, and he finds they come back at random moments; like the children's books that Mother had packed away long ago, the outcome is fixed but the movements never cease, never quiet, never change._

_He gags at the thought, and comes face to face with Bellatrix twined over the fainting couch like a cat, eyes rimmed in kohl, wrists tinkling with bangles. Her arm is over her eyes and her chest is moving faintly. _

_His hand goes to his wand and he draws on her. His hands are still shaking, and a slow hatred is being drawn inexorably from his limbs to his heart, from his heart to his brain and from his brain to his hand again, carried by the tide of blood and humours that run through his veins._

_The horrifying pictures of the raid have blended with his own powerlessness to stop them, the rage and fear he dares not express toward the Dark Lord, his love for his parents salted with a new and frightening resentment toward them that they allowed him to go with his aunt and uncle, knowing what would happen, his feelings for Hermione._

_He could end it here, now, tonight. She'd never hurt them again. He'd never scrub blood from under his nails and know it was human; never walk downstairs to find Hermione waiting for him, bloody and bruised; never see the look on Father's face when Bellatrix tells him (and she will tell him; it's a matter of time). _

_A powerful rush of something blacker than hate fills him and he raises the wand and opens his mouth. A hand clamps across his face and wrenches his wand hand down hard. "No."_

_Snape. He drags his godson by the arm onto the terrace and quickly creates a little bubble of silence for them. "Not now."_

"_But she—I—they--" _

"_I'm not saying don't do it, Draco. I'm saying wait until the time is right."_

_Draco nodded, seeing the sense in this, and quietly stepped back inside, returning his wand to its place. In front of him, Bellatrix sleeps unawares. He steps from the room, feeling the first hot spurts of hate cooling, crystallizing like a glaze over his heart. Below it, his heart is quite alive, but within it, he is beginning to wonder when his time will come. For it will come, and he won't falter. He knows it as he knows his name. For the first time in a long while, Draco smiles._

Hermione quietly set her wand down. She had nothing to say. Draco pulled her close and buried his face in her neck, rocking a little as he pulled her into his lap. "Hush, shh. It's all right, precious, nothing bad will happen, I promise. Relax, shhh." Perfectly well aware of who's being comforted, Hermione put her arms around him and holds him. She ought to feel disgusted by what she's seen. Ought to.

Draco calmed himself with the feel of his wife's body against his own, the warm smell of her skin and last night's couplings. He flipped her up and gave her backside a sharp smack. "Bad girl! You might have seen some very scary things. I have half a mind to bend you across my knee to discuss this issue right now."

Hermione cocked her head. "Would you feel better if you did?"

Draco had no intention of admitting that smacking his wife would help, or at least distract him. He frowned. "This is not about me, little madam. It's about a certain naughty little girl who knows better than to go exploring without permission. Get me something to transfigure, Hermione Jane, I'm going to redden your arse. Perhaps that will help you remember not to be such a bad little girl."

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from smiling. Draco seemed calmer at the very thought of punishing her, and frankly her nerves were a little jangled as well. It would help them both feel better. She fetched a stocking and Draco transfigured it into a wooden spoon, stinging and light. Hermione bent across his lap and, silencing the room, he bared her and started.

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack s****mack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

He picked up the spoon. Part of him wanted to scold her like he always did, make her feel little and helpless and _naughty_, but something stopped him. He felt a great thirst to simply live in the moment, to enjoy something that was uniquely them.

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack**!

"OWWWWW!"

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack!**

"Sir! Oww**!**

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack!**

"ITHURTS!"

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack!**

Hermione writhed, kicking as the spoon descended again and again. Draco was unusually quiet, pinning her firmly with one hand while the other made her backside burn. She wiggled, knowing it was fruitless but feeling comforted by it all the same.

Draco set the spoon down and began to pat. Hermione, still sobbing, turned and tilted her head. "I-is that a-all?"

Draco snorted and shook his head. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder which of us is stranger when it comes to these things. What would you like, love? Do you need more?"

Hermione blushed even under her tear stains. "No! I mean, it's just that you always scold me a little, and I…is something wrong?"

Draco shook his head. "Does my little girl need a good scolding to go with her smacked bottom? Would that make it all better?"

Hermione nodded without meaning to and Draco chuckled, giving her neck a gentle squeeze. "All right, precious. I hadn't realised. Up we get now." Draco sat his wife on his lap, feeling the heat radiating from her bum.

Hermione blushed even darker as Draco took her chin in his hand and made her look him in the eye. "Hermione Jane, what are the rules when it comes to what you do?"

She blinked and Draco held her a little more firmly. "Do you do things without proper supervision?"

"No, sir."

"Are you allowed to make choices about what's best for yourself all on your own?"

"No, sir."

"That's right, because little girls don't always make good choices, do they? They mean well, but sometimes they forgot how very little they really are, and then it's too late, isn't it? They have to have a smacking right over the knee to remind them to ask first. Now, since we've talked about this issue before, I think someone is going in the corner for a little while to think about what she'll do next time."

Hermione glowered but obeyed immediately, facing the corner nearest the bed. Draco stretched out and watched her, admiring the nice colouration he'd achieved this go. After a few moments, Draco graciously permitted her to rub, and Hermione gasped, cooling the throbbing agony with both hands and prancing a little in place.

"Come here, love. We aren't due downstairs for another hour, so I'll give you a little salve and we'll cuddle a bit. Unless you can think of something more interesting?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'd just as soon cuddle, if it's all right with you."

Draco huffed. "Send a man to his death without a goodbye token?"

Hermione gave him a single chaste kiss on the forehead. "You'll be splendid."

"Of course I shall. I'm a Malfoy. It's the principal, is all."

An hour later, Hermione was sipping tea, husband on one side and mother in law on the other. Some of the guests had opted to go home, but most had chosen to stay, some to support of the couple, some for curiosity's sake, and some because they were too intoxicated to Apparate home safely.

Sybil Trelawney, draped in scarves and reeking of incense even at this early hour, approached the table. "Draco. Hermione. Narcissa."

"Good morning, Professor." Beside Narcissa, Hermione had a look on her face which could charitably be called sour. She took a swallow of her tea, which was fortunate, as Trelawney pulled the cup from her hand and upended it on the saucer.

Too shocked to react for a moment, all four Malfoys watched as the woman read the leaves. "Hermione, my dear, I have always said you have a dry soul. But even you must see the danger you are all in."

"Yes, Professor, just like every other prediction you've ever made."

Trelawney seemed not to notice or care. She dropped her voice, and Hermione could smell violet sweets and gin on the woman's breath. "The Mask is slipping. I have seen it in my dreams."

Hermione felt a deep wave of revulsion and dread creep down her spine. " Professor, it's only a duel."

"When is a duel not a duel? When it's for men's souls, do you see? There is a battle being waged here, a battle of universal, even cosmic proportions!" Minerva McGonagall stepped swiftly over as Trelawney's voice rose and took her by the elbow.

"Sybil, dear, why don't you come and read Rubeus' leaves? He does so love it." Hagrid, unable as always to see a living thing in pain, agreeably gulped his tea and handed the cup over, sending Hermione a wink as he asked whether the fickling fermumps he'd starting raising would thrive.

"Mad old cow." Draco nodded and gave Hermione a sympathetic grin. Narcissa and Lucius, seeing the problem resolves, vowed to check future guests for illicit bottles before everyone bedded down. Though, if this was how the day was to go, Lucius privately suspected they'd all be joining Trelawney before long.

The sun was cresting the very top of the trees as Blaise Zabini and Polynices Parkinson stepped onto the property, sending up a shower of sparks to mark their location. Polynices might not have been the sharpest spike on the hawthorn tree, but he was a decent bloke, and his sister was as rich as she was ugly. Blaise thought a match might come of this, and in his mind's eyes he was picturing the fat additions to the Zabini vault even as Pansy's pinched face rose and was shoved aside.

"Wonder where they are. Think he's lost his nerve?"

"Malfoy? No. He's tetchy about his honour. And the mudblood's, I take it." Blaise stopped and rested against a tree, sighing deeply. Tipping his neck sharply to the side, he heard the bones crack and smiled slightly. Time to take the blood traitor down a peg, and perhaps propose to Parkinson's ugly sister before dinner.

Speaking of whom, Parkinson said suddenly "Have a cat, do they? Malfoy and his parents?"

"I don't believe so. He doesn't do well with animals. The mudblood has, I think."

"Kind of a small cat? Like a kitten?"

"No, a big ugly tom. Why?"

Parkinson stooped and picked up something white and fluffy from the ground. "Found the little bloke wandering just now. Ought to give it to Pansy, mate. It'd bring her around to you for sure."

Blaise had any number of responses, but just then he noticed something funny about the kitten. It seemed to be…_flickering_? "Put it down, Parkinson. Something's not right with that cat."

Parkinson bent to obey but the little bleeder bit down, and within a trice what had been a kitten was a large, gnarled grey rat. Yelping, the man windmilled back, rat clinging for dear life, and then abruptly let go. It was changing.

Blaise knew he should cry out, yell for help, but his throat was frozen. His mouth tried to remember how to work but his tongue was lead. Where the rat had been stood a man, a stubby man in a dirty suit and bloody, grinning mouth.

Laughter from the trees. "Well done, Pettigrew." A group was fanning out, crossing the wards without a single protest. "But how…"

One of them broke from the group and pulled away the silver mask. " He can cross as an animal, you see, because the wards don't go off when it's just an animal. And now that he's across, he can invite us in. Or you could, if you didn't want to die."

"B-B-Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"In the flesh. Shall I kill your friend?"

Blaise shook his head. "You c-can come."

They did, robes swirling as though the last night mists had taken form. They have, thought Blaise dully as the Death Eaters formed into line of battle and one of them grabbed him and held him at wand point. A line of ragged people stepped to the fore and drained a series of phials which fell clinking to the ground. And when the real horror began, Blaise felt only the smallest drop of surprise. Every other nightmare seemed to be coming true. Why not this?

They group was preparing to leave the morning room when the owls in the owlery hooted en masse, wings flapping. Lucius grumbled and rose from his seat. "Minky, go and--" The windows did not break. They ruptured inward, as though the house had had an aneurism, as the combined weight of well over a thousand stone of werewolf exploded into the room in a spray of glass.

It is a testament to the incredible reflexes of those involved that the no one was trampled in the rush to leave the salon. Draco was on his feet a second later, firing blasting spells, as behind him Mother began frantically directing people towards the center of the house, the oldest parts. "Family quarters! Go!"

The air was filled with the muted sounds of house elf Apparation as the denizens of the kitchen and bedrooms of Malfoy manor appeared to drive back the invaders. The room was filled with roars of pain and shrieks from the elves as the full power of their magic unleashed itself.

As she shoved the panicked guests toward the door, Hermione saw Ridgey, wielding a scythe, take a werewolf's head off its shoulders and spin, squeaking defiance. "Defend the masters! Kill them! Kill them all!"

Pots of boiling water whizzed by as the last guests made it through the doors. Draco and Lucius both felt a hard tug, and yielded as Narcissa propelled them backwards. The first ranks of the wolves were slammed themselves against the heavy walnut, growling in blood lust and rage, and as one almost a hundred wizards and witches raised wands and incanted the same. "Protego!"

Hermione threw a handful of powder into the Floo. "Go, hurry!" The doors were splintering but they only had to hold a few moments, just a bit more. Five and six at a time the guests crammed into the massive stone fireplace and vanished. Just a little more, a little more…

Hagrid stepped forward and braced the door with his shoulder, a thousand stone of werewolf fighting against fifty stone of angry half giant. Hermione raced forward and shoved MacGonagall and Sprout toward the fireplace. "Go, please!"

The werewolves were howling now, mad for blood. The elves, as tiny as they were brave, had begun raining balls of fire down on the creatures below, scalding water, hot candlewax. A coal caught and the scent of scorched fur and flesh was added to the stench of wolf and blood; the howls increased.

The doors were breaking, spurred by the desperation of the wolves. With a final snap they broke nearly in two and the defenders, the human ones, were forced toward the fireplaces. Lucius grabbed Hermione and threw her bodily in, followed by his wife and son. As he leapt through he felt his robes catch on something and blocked it from his mind.

The upstairs was pandemonium, but of a controlled sort. The first people inside had closed the wing doors and began levitating the furniture against them in a sort of magical bucket brigade, reinforcing everything by sticking it together and hexing whatever couldn't be stuck.

By the time the family had made it inside and closed the inter room Floo, a sort of chaotic discipline had been built. Antigone Goyle was seeing to the wounded, along with the Lovegoods and Neville's Gran. Her husband was attempting to lure an owl so as to write for help, with Theodore Nott rather awkwardly assisting.

Greg was finding anything which could be weaponized and bringing it to Snape and McGonagall for repurposing. Molly and Arthur Weasley were reinforcing the wards on the windows to allow things out but not in. Harry, Ginny and Ron were finding anything breakable and affixing the smashed pieces to the tops and sides of the barricade to add a layer for defense.

From behind the door came a great trampling and the noise of stench of battle was suddenly upon them. Hermione tensed as, beside her, Narcissa went pale. "Where's Andromeda?"

"With Teddy, Narcissa. She went directly into the nursery."

"Did she come out?"

McGonagall shook her head and went back to transfiguring books into lead weights to drop from a height. Narcissa felt a frisson of dread. "Lucius, I shall go and check on them."

Watching them go, Lucius turned to his son. "Go with Mother, Draco." He noticed his daughter in law bent over Hagrid, applying a cloth to his bloodied arm. He thought nothing of it and went to oversee the barricade building.

Andromeda was holding Teddy, rocking in the chair. As soon as she saw Narcissa, her head snapped up. "Run!"

"Meddie, what--"

Bellatrix stepped into view. "You don't look happy to see me, Cissy."

"Bellatrix? But how?"

Bellatrix's face cracked into a ghastly rictus. "I'm family, Narcissa. Or have you forgot?"

"No, no, I've never forgot. But Cissy you can't hurt Meddie or the baby. You wouldn't hurt a little baby, would you?"

"He's a halfblood, Narcissa. Probably a werewolf as well, come to think of it. Mustn't be selfish, now, must we? Have to do what's best for Andromeda's ickle abomination." She put the baby on the floor and went to draw her wand.

"No! Take me!" Andromeda threw herself over the baby, who started to wail. Bellatrix reached down, and as though forty years had left her at once, gave Andromeda's hair a hard pull. Andromeda jerked, rolled and somehow managed to scoop Teddy up and run, screaming for help.

"She always was a carry tale. Oh, hello, Draco, didn't see you there. Time to die, you blood traitor filth."

Draco drew on his aunt and she laughed, assuming an offensive stance. " Go on, then, do it! You cowardly little---" Draco fired the first spell and then it was battle.

At the barricade, the wizards were holding the werewolves at bay. Behind them, the Death Eaters waited. The bulk could not pass the wards which restricted the family quarters; even Rodolphus was stuck in the rear guard.  
The first of the werewolves succeeded in knocking the doors down and came face to face with the pile of furniture and decorative objets which clogged their path. If they could have laughed, they would have. But since wolves don't laugh, they leapt instead, and the shrieking began in earnest.

Draco pressed his advance, trying to force his aunt against a wall. Narcissa was firing spells whenever she saw an opening, but the constant movement of the combatants prevented her from doing much more than harrying Trixie and hoping she'd see sense. Behind them, the barricade was falling, muffling the sounds in the room. No one could approach, no one help. The fight would end with the more skilled—or luckier—combatant killing the other.

Noise at the door. For a split second, the distraction allowed a half dozen people to storm into the room. Bellatrix slashed her wand and incanted something, and Draco was falling, falling. There was a weight on top of him, and then someone was pulling her up. "Draco, run!"

"Hermione!" She shoved him toward the door, holding his mad aunt at bay as Mother pulled him from the room and stepped into the fight.

"Trixie, this is madness! Stop it right now!"

"I don't want to kill you, Narcissa. Let me have the mudblood and the boy!"

"Bellatrix, stop it!" Narcissa moved closer, hoping against hope that Trixie would listen to reason. Draco bent for long enough to snatch a wand from a wounded witch and darted back into the room, heedless of his broken bones.

"_Engorgio Intra_! Die, die!" Bellatrix lunged, shrieking, and Draco braced himself for an impact which never came. Instead, he felt someone fall on top of him, crushing his splintered collarbones. He knew at once who it was, and rolled, even as the shattered collarbones ground together and his wrist bones flopped, to protect his little girl.

Then he heard Father's voice, as though from a million miles away. "Draco! Love, stand up, stand up, it's done." Strong hands grabbed him around the waist and tugged him to his feet. Greg was right behind and he bent and scooped Hermione up and set her on her feet.

Draco could feel himself fainting, but before he gave into the pain, he managed a smirk. "See, Hermione. Told you it'd be all right."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**:

**Madea wants me to thank her reviewers, and I'm inclined to agree to it. She's really been very mean lately, I've thought.**

**Countess Black is wonderful like usual**. **I should like to point out that she's been ever so much nicer to me than SOME muggles I could name.**

**Isn't it just beastly how Hermione never seems to get half what I would in these situations? Feminine caballing, I call it. I mean, really, would just once be too much to ask.**

**Anyway, do write me a note to cheer me up, won't you? Not that I'm pouting. Malfoys never pout, especially me.**

**Draco**

Ultimately, the skirmish in Malfoy manor could have been far worse than it was. If there had been people sitting under the windows in the salon rather than across from them…if the Death Eaters had waited for the group to come outside…if Hagrid hadn't held the door…if Narcissa hadn't got everyone safely into the Floo, along with Hermione…if the barricade hadn't been managed as well as it had…

Which isn't to say that the end was easy. By the time pain had driven Draco to fainting, things seemed calm. Wizards were lowering wands, the wounded being tallied and the fires which had been the cumulative effect of the many, many blasting spells the assembled defenders (many, remember, were former Death Eaters, and knew a thing or two about Dark magic) had used to drive back the werewolves were being put out. The manor itself would be fine; a building doesn't stand for over a thousand years without having been reinforced against mundane disasters like attacks by fifty slavering werewolves.

Hermione gently wriggled free of Goyle's tight if well intentioned hold on her. Draco was limp in his father's arms and she quickly pressed his cheek, before giving her hair a brisk shake to get the dust out and surveying what had to be done.

Raising her wand, she began by transfiguring some broken china into splints and asking Lucius to hold Draco still while she applied them to Draco's shattered arm. Lucius complied, surprisingly, and watched as she gently bound the badly broken bones until her husband could be taken to St. Mungo's. "Some kind of muggle medicine, I take it."

"Yes, Father. I was a Girl Guide when I was younger."

"Mmm." Whatever that was, it sounded unsavoury to Lucius, but he had a sense Hermione knew what she was doing and let her be. "I can't fix his collarbones."

"That's all right, love. I'm sure he's very grateful you did even this much."

The other defenders were cautiously dismantling the barricade, helped by the aurors who'd finally arrived, dispatched the remaining werewolves and cataloguing the dead. They were reverting to their human forms in death, and the roll call of names went on and on, sonorous as a bell.

The last of the barricade was cleared and to the shock of those present, two human forms staggered forward, splashed with blood. Sobbing, Polynices Parkinson threw himself at Hagrid, bawling about the horrors they had seen. Beside him, Blaise Zabini wore a vacant, eerie stare that those in the room acquainted with muggle history recognized from pictures of men returning from the Somme.

Snape decided to take charge of the situation. Stepping forward, he gave Zabini a hard shake. "Zabini! ZABINI!" Blaise's eyes never changed. Parkinson calmed slightly at the familiar sound of his old head of house's shouts.

"We were w-waiting for the duel and they—it was like—and he—they—it was a kitten. How could a kitten be a rat? Like a mask."

Snape shook his head. "They're in shock. Zabini was cold as ice. Sit them down, Madam Weasley, and find something to wrap them in. They'll need to be transported with the rest."

There were other wounded, and since both men were, at least apparently, stable, concern shifted to the other wounded and those werewolves left alive. A quick scam showed that no Dark magic was tainting the family quarters at the moment.

Hermione noticed Draco's wand was missing. "The aurors will want it' she thought to herself, and thought about finding Lucius to tell him she was going to find the wand. He was deep in conversation with Shaklebolt about what to do, and she would only be gone a moment…she slipped into the nursery, and none of them saw Blaise stand mechanically and follow after.

The wand, miraculously unbroken, was hidden under a small pile of stones and dust. Hermione bent over, preparing to levitate them, when she felt a hand clamp the back of her neck. She jerked herself upright and laughed a little in shock.

"Zabini? Blaise? Go and sit in the corridor, all right? They're taking everyone to St. Mungo's soon and--"

The other hand stuck leech like to the other side of her neck and flexed. Hermione tried to scream but the pressure on her throat prevented it. Zabini, stoic as ever, lifted her from her feet and let her dangle, choking, from his hands.

Blessing her talent for wandless magic, Hermione _thought _as hard as she could. Zabini's grip loosened. Slithering down, Hermione took a step back and then another. Zabini kept coming, moving stiffly like...like...

Hermione shook off the memories that threatened to consume her. She'd fought her whole life, and she'd be damned if she'd die here without a fight. Coming back forcefully to the present, she groped for Draco's wand and swished it sharply. "Stupify!"

Nothing. Zabini kept coming. Hermione looked desperately for something, anything she could use. "Wingardium leviosa!" One of the shattered stones flew up and cracked solidly into Zabini's head, knocking him off balance for a second. It was all the time she'd need. " Levicorpus!"

He flew, flipping upside down, and hung from the ceiling still struggling feebly. Hermione grabbed both wands and ran. "Father! Mother!"

The story came out in a tumble of words. Shock had been late to hit but hit it did, her knees trying to buckle as she spoke. Businesslike, she ignored it and continued to give her statement quite lucidly to the auror in charge.

Severus Snape and three others, trailed by Hermione and Narcissa, went to see what Zabini had to say about all this. They released him and he tumbled, lifeless, to the ground. Snape bent and picked up a wrist. "No."

This time her knees did buckle. "I killed him?"

Snape shook his head. "Unlikely, Miss—I mean, Madam Malfoy. There's no blood on his head, do you see?"

"Then was he dead when he---"

"Yes."

Hermione wanted to retch. She forced herself to stay calm and breath deeply. "Like Bathilda, then. He was an inferi."

"Something like that. Bella always did have something of a—a fascination with dead things. I attributed his cold skin to shock. These things happen." Snape's face was a mask. He rose and silently walked out, an auror covering Zabini's body with a sheet from the closet.

By that time, healers had arrived to Portkey the wounded to St. Mungo's. Draco was among the first wave, still blessedly unconscious. Hermione went to grip the Portkey and was stopped by Lucius' hand on her arm. "Mother is going. We'll join them shortly, but we're needed here more."

Hermione, it must be said, did admirably, seeing the situation. She saw off the guests, many of whom were sure their hearts would never be the same. The Weasleys, along with Harry, were the last to go. "You're sure you don't need us, Hermione? Lucius?"

They both shook their heads. "Thank you, no. We'll be going into London as soon as everything's finished here." Hermione smiled sadly. "I suppose at least it was memorable."

Ron suddenly grinned. "Think they'll write it up in the social pages tomorrow, Hermione? 'The wedding of the year, until a bunch of werewolves gate crashed'?"

Hermione sniffed haughtily. " I should think it's the wedding of the decade at least, Ronald." They embraced again and the manor was silent for the first time in what seemed like years, aside from the aurors nosing about the downstairs and gardens. The elves had begun rebuilding the downstairs, but all the noise was muffled by the stone walls and the exhaustion of the man and young woman studying one another in the corridor.

Lucius sighed. "Hermione, love, I should like you to go and sit on your bed in Mother's room, please. I'll be in momentarily."

Hermione's face lost its colour. "Yes, Father." At some level, she wished she could pretend ignorance of what was going to happen and why, but she was too fundamentally honest. She was getting smacked for what had happened with Zabini.

Zabini. Her stomach knotted painfully. She'd seen dead people before, had killed before, even, but it had always been in combat. The flare of light, the clean silent falling, the sense of sadness mixed with inevitability. This had been different. Someone had used her schoolmate's body to try and kill her and whomever else. Hermione felt _violated_.

Worse, she thought abruptly, Zabini's mother, she of the many husbands. Who would tell her? The aurors, certainly, but given their total lack of tact, Hermione dreaded the thought of them showing up at Madam Zabini's door. She'd never met the woman, but the thought of her finding out from strangers…

When Lucius entered the room, he found his daughter in law, eyes teary, sitting obediently on the bed. He wasn't surprised, really—Hermione surely knew she was in trouble. He'd expected more emotion, if anything. He called Lemmy to chaperon them and sat down.

"Is something besides the obvious wrong, Hermione?"

Hermione sniffled. "It's silly, really."

"Hermione."

"I was wondering who has to tell Madam Zabini about Blaise, is all. The aurors?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

"Because it doesn't seem right to me, somehow. They're not very sensitive with these things. It doesn't seem fair, hearing a thing like that from strangers. I feel sorry for her."

Abruptly, Lucius found himself with an armful of teenage girl as his daughter in law rested her head on his shoulder. "Why is everything so hard?"

He had the idea that the poor thing was speaking from a combination of shock at the morning events and an unconscious fear that she'd get a visit from the aurors some day. He rubbed her back, feeling the trembling in her muscles and the rapid beats of her heart.

"Shhh, hush. You're safe, love, you know that." She nodded and gently broke the hug, which had, she was surprised to note, actually helped. Lucius smiled and nodded approvingly. "That's a good girl. It speaks very highly of you that you thought of someone else while you're about to be punished. Now, Hermione, can you tell me why you're in trouble?"

She looked away. "Draco's always telling me not to go exploring, and I did it anyways."

"We've talked about information seeking in inappropriate ways, have we not?"

"Yes, Father."

"You know there will be consequences?"

"Yes, sir."

Lucius sat back a bit and motioned for an elf to fetch…. What? Surely the brush would be too much for the poor child. She'd done something seriously wrong and needed commiserate chastisement, but he didn't want to traumatize the girl.

"Minky, a bedroom slipper. Come here, Hermione."

Hermione shucked her robes, took a deep breath and made herself lay across his lap. She could feel her face going scarlet even as he gently pinned both wrists to the small of her back and stuck her to his lap with his wand.

Lucius could feel how hard the child was breathing against his thighs. Best to get this over with, then.

He raised the hem of the dress and lowered her drawers, deciding to skip a long warm up in the interests of not panicking the poor love. Once she'd got used to being punished by him, he'd do it like he did with Draco, but right now she needed to understand how dangerous her behavior had really been.

Steeling himself for the wailing hysterics sure to follow, he brought his hand down hard right where the girl sat.

**SMACK !**

Hermione gasped when his hand made contact. Draco always stressed how much one of Father's smackings hurt. She definitely wasn't enjoying herself, but it wasn't exactly the agony he'd described, either.

" Hermione? Love? You seem quite calm. You needn't be, you know. I shan't laugh at you."

"Y'sir."

"Be a good girl and let it out for me, won't you?"

**SMACK **!

**SMACK !**

Hermione yelped sharply and wriggled as he whacked every bit of bare skin. Perhaps Draco hadn't been joking; this wasn't intolerable by any means, but she'd forgot a little just how much a hand smacking can sting and burn if applied with appropriate vigour.

Lucius found himself wishing she'd be a little less…accommodating? She was moving, at least, and he was deeply impressed by how well Draco had taught his wife to obey and submit to discipline, but it was bothering him more and more that her reactions just seemed so muted. Narcissa had said her pain tolerance was far too high, but he'd never thought…he smacked _Draco_ this hard. The girl ought to have fainted long since.

All the same, he was confident he'd made the right choice. If he didn't force her to open up to him and bring her walls down, it was all for nothing. She was a woman, after all, and very fragile. The poor darling needed to be broken of the idea that she could decide when to express her feelings. Time for that later; now he wanted to finish and make sure his daughter in law felt better.

"Now, Hermione, I think you know you do not to go off and do things alone without telling anyone. You might have been…injured. How do you suppose Mother and I would feel if that happened, to say nothing of Draco? Or even Potter or the Weasleys?"

**SMACK !**

**SMACK !**

"OWW!" Hermione hadn't expected what felt like a burning curse being applied to her backside. She squirmed, crying hard, and even started kicking. "OWW!PLEASEFATHEROWOWW!"

"That's the good girl, Hermione. Let it out."

"SORRY! ALL MY FAULT!"

Lucius stopped, startled and set her to her feet. Hermione's arms went around him and she buried her face in his chest and sobbed. He held her tightly against himself, murmuring comfort and affection, deeply disturbed.

"Yes, shh, shh. Father is here, love, it's all right. Can you tell me what you meant?"

She looked down and he tipped her face up. "I just—it always—I should have known better."

Lucius pressed her head to his shoulder. "We're dealing with that right now, dear heart. Shall we continue?"

Hermione nodded and stepped back, squaring her shoulders. "I'm ready if you are, Father."

He smirked in a friendly way and helped her drape herself across his lap. "I am so very proud of you, Hermione. You've been such a good girl this whole time. Draco and Mother will be awfully proud as well. Shhh, just lie there and think about what we're going to discuss, you'll feel all better very soon."

He tapped her gently with the slipper and she took a deep breath and folded her arms back without being told.

"Now we take care of information seeking without permission. You do not disobey us, Hermione." THWACK THWACK THWRACKTHWACK!  
"OWW! N'sir!"  
"You must trust us to help you. You do not have the necessary experience to know how to react to things." THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!  
"OWWW! SORRY!"  
"You don't need to carry these burdens all by yourself. We are your family. We love you." THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!  
"OWWW! PLEASEOWWW!"  
"We will carry them for you. We are so pleased with your behavior lately, but this problem stops tonight, do you understand?"THWACK!THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!  
"Y'SIR! OWWWW!" THWACK!THWACK!  
"If this should be an issue in the future, I will be forced to repeat this lesson. Neither of us want that, do we, love?" THWACK! THWACK!  
"N'SIR! OWWW!"  
Hermione was limp, sobbing with exhaustion and emotional pain as much as anything else. He let her cry it out another minute and then carefully stood her up, keeping a tight hold lest she faint. The girl was an absolute mess, hair tangled and damp, face red from crying.

"Time for a nap, I think. When you wake, we'll go and see Draco at St. Mungo's, hmm?"

By the time Hermione had been given a thick coating of salve, dressed for bed and tucked in, she was quite calm, lying on her stomach and breathing deeply.

"There now, I'm here. I shan't leave you until you feel better. None of us will ever, ever leave you. Do you understand?" Hermione nodded, eyes suspiciously bright. Lucius began to rub the place between her shoulder blades, feeling her wince, resolving to have the elves salve her all over and check her for bruising when she woke up.

"And that means when you've misbehaved, we shall punish you like you need, because you are a very good girl and you deserve to be taught how to behave. It's all right, darling, Father is here. That's the good girl, just drift off."

Hermione was surprised to find herself rather comforted by the hand smoothing her aching muscles, and even more surprised to find herself wanting Narcissa, of all people. Deep down, she knew her own terror had driven some of her reaction to Zabini's death, and she felt dreadfully guilty at her own perceived selfishness.

Mother could help her with that, she felt sure. Mother would listen and talk her through it. And Draco, for that matter. Father was still rubbing her back and a great thankfulness rose up in her heart. She really was extraordinarily lucky in a lot of ways.

Still, it disturbed her that she'd thought of the Malfoys first and not her own dear parents. But they were far away, perhaps forever, and the Malfoys were here. Did that make it disloyal to need them? Was it wrong to love Lucius and Narcissa, or wrong not to?

She'd worry about it later. Right now the bed was warm and soft and she felt like she'd sat on a stove, salve be damned. Eyes closing, she went to sleep.

Lucius spent another moment stroking her hair and made sure she was deeply asleep before he rose and walked softly down the hall. It wasn't quite nine AM.

**One PM**:

Draco grinned and pulled himself into a sitting position as Hermione entered. "Come here, darling." They spent a moment just holding one another, Hermione careful not to jar his bones. Draco dropped his lips to her ear. "Father tells me there's a sorebottomed little girl at our house."

Hermione blushed red. "Ah, yes."

"How many times have we had discussions about exploring, Hermione Jane?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Too many. I trust Father gave you a through blistering?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm a little surprised Father used the slipper, I must say. I would have sent for a switch and then put some welts on you. But since he knows what a very little girl you are, he must have thought a hot red bottom was enough."

Hermione squirmed, not especially wanting to be reminded. Even with the salve, she wasn't all that keen on sitting and felt like she wouldn't be until tomorrow at least. Draco pulled her closer and gently slipped her skirt up. "My word, that _is_ a hot bottom, isn't it? I'll bet my little girl was very sorry after, wasn't she?"

Hermione blushed even darker. "It was hard. Father was very nice about the whole thing, though."

"Of course he was. But we're going to have a serious talk about this behavior, love."

"I talked with Father."

"I know, and he told me what a good girl you were the whole time. Well done."

Hermione smiled and stroked his hair. "How are you, Draco?"

"Ah ah, don't try to change the subject. You know I owe you bedtime smackings?"

Hermione swallowed hard. "Lucky for you I don't feel up to it. And since traditionally, the head of the family gets last word, I suppose you've been punished adequately. But—_but_--if this continues to be a problem, I'll have a very sorry little girl, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, to answer your question, I need to be fussed over and made much of. You might start by plumping my pillows and telling me how brave I am."

Hermione snorted. "You're unbelievable. Shall I faint as well?"

"Might not hurt. Mother'd be less likely to tell you off if you were lying in a puddle on the floor."

Laughing, Hermione fluffed Draco's pillow and tucked the covers under his chin. "Where are you wounded, sweet?"

"They knit my bones back together, but this damned collarbone still hurts like blazes. Father says he was very impressed by how you handled that whole situation, by the way. He wasn't happy you wandered off, but he said you took of it like a' Draco stopped himself just in time. He'd been about to say 'man', a bit of high praise indeed. 'Well, that you handled it beautifully."

"I was sorry it came to that with Zabini. I realised how careless I'd been."

"What prompted this?"

"Father sent me to wait and I, I started thinking about poor Madam Zabini getting the word about…about Blaise."

"And then when Father scolded you…"

"Yes. And I don't want my own parents to ever get a visit that way, if we find them."

Draco shifted gingerly, hissing as the newly healed bones howled protests. "Don't get upset, love. Mother is bullying the medi-wizard into sending me home to recuperate, so we'll have a good long time to rest and enjoy one another." He raised an eyebrow and Hermione gave him a playful nudge.

"That's not the answer to all life's problems, Draco."

"Why not? If everyone were distracted with that, there'd never be another war. People would feel too good." If Draco had been another sort of person, he would have told her what he'd really been thinking, that no one would want to leave someone they loved as much as he loved Hermione to kill other people. His fear when he realised who had shielded him in the battle. That his last thought, had he been killed, would have been of her.

He didn't, because he was unsentimental and pragmatic and too utterly Malfoy to say things like that. Instead, Draco put his head to her chest and calmed himself listening to Hermione's heart beat, feeling her breath.

Ten minutes later, an intern medi-witch, carrying a phial of pain potion and girding herself for battle with the Malfoy heir, who was what one might call a difficult patient, tiptoed in to find Draco asleep, head on Hermione's chest. Hermione smiled and made a hushing gesture with her finger.

The medi-witch carefully set the phial down and cocked her head. "He's been saying he's in pain for an hour."

"I'll dose him when he wakes." Not wishing to argue, the medi-witch quietly backed out, pleased to have avoided a confrontation. Hermione smoothed the thin, fine hair back from her husband's brow and held him, relieved they'd all lived to fight another day.

In Spinner's End, Lucius Malfoy, along with Severus Snape, was attempting to unravel the mystery of the attack. "During the day, yet! And those idiots took the chance to Apparat away while we were finishing the werewolves. I don't understand how this could have happened."

"Nor I. I'd imagine they somehow reversed the Wolf's bane potion, but I can't imagine what would trigger the change."

"I've every faith in you."

"You should. I take it Draco's still in St. Mungo's ?"

"Yes. Hermione as well. Narcissa is in Nottingham, having the elves pack Andromeda's things."

"Is she moving in?"

"She is now."

There came a knock at the door. Snape rose, drawing, and approached. "Yes?"

"Open up!" A small figure, wrapped in a winter clock of heavy wool, half fell into the entryway of the townhouse. Lucius's body knew before his mind, and he'd drawn on the figure before the cloak dropped to reveal his sister in law, bloodied and bruised, yet very much alive.

"To what do I owe the honour, Madam Lestrange?"

"Oh, do shut up. I've something you'll want, but there's a price attached."

Lucius took a step forward. "Why shouldn't I kill you right now and take it? I could get five hundred galleons for your miserable head."

Bellatrix smiled, teethed limned in blood, and took a wavering step forward. "Because then I can't help you, can I?"

"Help me with what, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix smiled harder and spat maroon black on the floor. "That spell I hit the mudblood with, of course. You'll never find out what it was without my help."

"Why should I believe you?"

She reached slowly into her pocket and draw out a wad of parchment, making sure they could both see her movements. "Call it a gift of good faith." Lucius stretched out his hand and Bellatrix danced back, wavering, but kept her hold.

"Ah ah ah, don't get hasty, brother in law. I'm not the Pureblood League for Orphans, now am I?"

"What is it you want?"

"Have me placed under house arrest in Malfoy manor. There's precedent. Tertullius Malfoy in 1207."

"You want to stay in my house again, Bellatrix? Go directly to Hell."

Bellatrix thrust her hand at Snape, and Snape took the documents and scanned them. "This is the lycanthropy potion, isn't it?"

"Half of it, anyway."

"Why only half?"

"I told you, I'm not a damned charity."

"What's this about a hex on Hermione?"

"Guess you need me after all, hmm, Malfoy?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**:

**Love to reviewers**.

**And my dear Countess Black, without whom I would be lost.**

**Draco had been insisting on doing the AN, but once he found out what I wanted him to say, he went green in the face and refused. Having traumtised him most satisfactorily, let me make a few points:**

**I am not a doctor, nurse or anything of the sort. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't take my word on anything medical; consult an appropriate professional instead.**

**There is a spoiler laden AN at the bottom. Please read it at the end.**

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When Tertullius Malfoy, a notorious eccentric, was convicted following an incident that involved trying to breed cat sized hippogriffs, having loosed them by accident on the Minister of Magic, who was visiting at the time, no one was surprised. After all, the Minister had been squashed quite flat, the experiment having failed, and everyone had seen it.

What no one had anticipated was the response of the family of the convicted. His wife and sons simply would not hear of their beloved, if utterly deranged, patriarch being taken to somewhere as common as prison.

"Of course not' sniffed the lady in question 'we'll just keep him here." And they did. The Malfoys, even then, were famous for their connections and wealth, and the Ministry had no particular urge to risk open war with the most powerful families in the country over one flattened Minister whom no one had liked anyway. 1207 was a good year to be a Malfoy and a bad year to be the guest of a Malfoy, it would seem.

And so Cunegonde Malfoy built the most luxurious prison room known to wizarding kind, directly below the owlery in the tall tower of what was then Malfoy Keep. It was here, under cover of night, that Bellatrix Lestrange was brought. An elf dressed her wounds and a gown was found somewhere to replace the one that had been shredded in the battle.

Of her husband and colleagues she claimed to have no earthly notion. Shacklebolt, interrogating the prisoner, asked why she had surrendered. "Because I couldn't run anymore, idiot. And I was tired of that damned werewolf thinking he was as smart as me."

Kingsley gave up. Coming into the parlour, he found Draco and Hermione, a glass of fire whiskey ready for him as Draco absently dandled the baby on his knee.

"How do you feel about all this, Hermione?"

"Honestly, I don't know. They've proved Azkaban's not safe anymore, and I suppose the Ministry's not either."

"If she goes to trial she'll be convicted out of hand. I agree with Lucius that it would be wise to find out what she knows first. If we keep her somewhere more official, she'd likely be assassinated before we could learn anything."

"I can't even remember being hit with a spell."

"You were, though. She was aiming for me and you got between us." Draco somehow managed to glower and look pleased at the same time. Hermione held his eyes for a long moment and then said "The one I'm worried about is Andromeda."

Shacklebolt nodded tiredly. "Bellatrix will be locked up. Andromeda needn't go anywhere near where she is. Snape is helping them blood ward the room to prevent Bellatrix slipping out."

"Like our wards kept the werewolves out, eh, Minister?"

To that, Shacklebolt had nothing to say.

In the tower, Bellatrix was grinning. Her sisters and idiot brother in law were standing in a tense half circle. "Well?"

"'Well', what?"

"What did you do to Hermione, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix giggled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"You promised."

Bellatrix climbed into the large, soft bed and snuggled against the duvet. "Did I? I don't remember …but I'm rather tired. And not nearly as stupid as you believe me, Lucius."

Narcissa tried next. "Trixie, please. Hermione is Draco's wife. We need to know for the good of the family."

"What would be good for the family is if the little bitch dies and gets thrown in the midden heap. I understand that Lucius has failed to uphold his vows to our Master, but you, Narcissa Euphemia, were raised to know better than that."

"I was raised to love my children, Bellatrix, and I do. Hermione's blood status is unfortunate, but she's more than made up for it."

"If Daddy were still alive, you wouldn't dare say a thing like that."

Andromeda went still. "If Daddy were still alive, nor would you. He'd be appalled with the way you've behaved."

"Says the blood traitor."

Given the utterly surrealism of the day, Lucius was finding it increasingly hard to stifle a laugh. It had nearly thirty years, but the three Black sisters had taken up exactly where they'd left off.

"We aren't here to talk about that. We need to talk about--"

"You're just saying that because you know I'm right."

"Bellatrix, stop picking on Andromeda so we can sort this out."

"Hush, Narcissa, you were too young to remember the details of what happened."

"I wasn't either, I was thirteen."

"Well, you oughtn't lecture your elders, then. Sit quietly until this is sorted out."

"I'm in my forties and so are you!"

"I'm still you're older sister, and don't make that face. You'll end up looking just like Great Aunt Eulalie if you keep it up."

"I loved Great Aunt!"

"You're a blood traitor, Meddie, all your judgments are suspect."

Lucius finally couldn't contain his laughter. All three women turned and gave him eerily similar looks of irritation. "Lucius, please."

"Yes, Malfoy, do try not to be an ass."

"Don't call him an ass, he's been very good to Teddy and I."

"Blood traitors flock together, everyone knows that."

Andromeda turned and left the room without another word. Narcissa looked after her sympathetically and then said "Really, Bellatrix. Was that necessary?"

"She _is_ a blood traitor. As is your son, but I thought it politic to avoid mention of that."

"Hermione is a wonderful girl, we love her like our own."

Bellatrix shook her head. "I'm ashamed to hear you speaking like this, Cissy."

"You saw what He did to our family, Bellatrix, your Lord. To my son. How could you still love Him after what he did to Draco?"

"And this mudblood will protect you?"

"She makes us all happier than he ever did."

Bellatrix reached out and touched her sister's face. "You're tired, Cissy. Go and see to Meddie, why don't you?" She left in a rustle of sweetly scented robes and Bellatrix faced her brother in law. "Enough with the games, Trixie."

"You were eager to give the girl to Greyback that night, Malfoy. Or have you forgot? You're good at that."

"Situations change. What have you done, Bellatrix?"

"Nothing you won't thank me for later. Now, I should like some parchment sent up. I've some letters to write."

"I think not. You've been less than forthcoming with us. Perhaps you should go to bed and think about what would happen if someone forgot to feed you."

"I don't think your mudblood would let you forget me, Lucius."

"The irony, Bellatrix, is that you're absolutely right."

He found them sitting in the parlour, Andromeda clutching Teddy with a near panicky tightness. "I don't think I can stand to be in the same house with her."

"Meddie, love, you're very upset. Let's have Minky bring you something, shall we?"

"No, I mean it. Teddy and I should go home."

"This is your home, your rightful home."

An argument was brewing, and would have got ugly indeed if a thunderous knocking hadn't filled the atrium. En masse, the group rose and drawing, approached as the terrified Minky eased the door open.

In time for Hagrid's head to poke through, followed by the rest of him. "Hagrid!"

"'Ermione!"

The massive man swept Hermione into a tight hug, releasing her when she protested, laughing, that he was crushing her ribs. To Draco's shock, he was similarly embraced, as were Mother and Father (!).

"I got thinkin' about what 'appened and mentioned the whole mess to some friends o'mine. Said they'd like to 'elp, if it's all right wi'you." Hagrid moved back and gestured to the garden. "They're outside."

The group trooped out to find a half dozen centaurs standing near the steps, pawing the ground and looking, to say the least, unhappy.

"Bane, Magorian, how nice to see you again." The Malfoys, collectively, could not have been more shocked to hear Hermione greet the lead centaurs by name, nor the fact they nodded cordially in return.

"Hagrid tells us you have mated the Malfoy boy."

"Yes, we got married last month."

Magorian addressed Draco. "She is strong. She will bear you fine sons."

"N-no doubt."

"Hagrid tells us Greyback's wolves have made inroads on your ancestral territories."

Lucius stepped forward. "Yes, they have, along with a number of Death Eaters."

"We care nothing for the wars of wizards, but Greyback has been enemy to us for years."

"We wish to remove this threat to our kind. We will stay and fight with you."

Bane hefted his bow and grinned. "Yes, and gather many pelts."

Hagrid looked slightly sheepish. "'Appened to see them in the forest an' they insisted."

"Hagrid, perhaps we should--"

Shacklebolt held up a hand. "This might be a good idea. They'd be able to tell if the werewolves were in the park, outside the wards."

"We will not be used by humans."

"We'd never dream of it." Lucius looked ready to say more but Bane stepped closer and stopped directly in front of Andromeda.

"This youngling is yours?"

"My grandson."

"Where is his mother and her mate?"

Andromeda blinked tears. "They died in the battle."

"Killed by Greyback and his allies?"

Andromeda nodded and turned away, overcome. "He's all I have left."

Narcissa pressed her shoulder, reassuring her that wasn't so. The centaurs seemed to be communicating something amongst themselves.

"They would take him, too? The boy?"

"If they could."

"Then we must stay. No centaur would allow harm to come to a youngling. This is known."

The others nodded. Bane leant down and simply slipped the baby from Andromeda's hands, holding him with shocking tenderness, bouncing him when he fussed. He dropped his head and smelled Teddy's warm little neck, the sweet place at the top of his head. "His father was Lupin the werewolf."

"Yes."

"I saw him fall. He was defending another, a female. Your daughter?"

She nodded wordlessly and Lucius cleared his throat to end the interview. Bane nuzzled Teddy again, growling in a soothing way and said "Know that your daughter was braver still. She saw her mate depart and fought on anyway. We will feed her spirit with the smoke of our fires, and his, to strengthen them for their rebirth."

Andromeda nodded and took Teddy back. "Thank you. I—we—appreciate that."

The centaurs turned and drifted into the woods, silent as memory. Hagrid put a huge hand on Andromeda's arm and barely flexed, giving her whatever comfort he could.

"A right honor, that. They believe that the brave are reborn as centaurs. They're feedin' 'em so they'll come back as members o' their clan."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I should like to take a moment in the garden, if no one minds." Narcissa looked worried but no one said anything as Andromeda handed Hermione the baby and set off.

"Hermione? Why don't you give Teddy to Lemmy and come with me? We'll rest in my rooms until Andromeda's returned."

Trailing Narcissa, Hermione wondered if she were in some kind of trouble. Lemmy had brought the baby, along with a selection of toys, and put him on the bed on his belly. He cooed and flailed happily, showing Auntie the toys he'd pick up and drop.

"Father told me what you said about Madam Zabini, precious." Narcissa gave the girl a pat as she talked. "It's very gracious of you to be concerned with her at a time like this. I was thinking, if you'd like to, you might write her a letter to console her."

"I would like that. Would she want one from me, though, given I'm muggleborn?"

Narcissa considered. "She's lost her only child. I would imagine that any comfort would be welcome. Thought perhaps, given the …abnormal...nature of the proceeding, it might do well to be rather vague about Blaise's last few moments."

Hermione nodded, relieved. "I was wondering how to tactfully avoid that." Teddy crowed and Hermione started rubbing his back, happy he was there. "How is Andromeda dealing with…everything?"

"Aunt, darling. She's well. You must understand that Bellatrix was not always…like she is. When I was a child, I adored both of them to distraction."

"Mother? May I ask you something?"

"Is it about what happened to Bellatrix?"

"Yes." Teddy began to fuss and Narcissa picked him up, patting his back. The baby calmed and began drowsing into her neck. "Lemmy, bring the small cradle and put Teddy down for his nap in the other room."

"The answer is that I don't know, love. She was always very loving with Andromeda and me, but remember that I'm seven years younger. I'm sure there were signs I'd missed. When Andromeda left…and then my father died, and she was very close to Daddy…" Narcissa smiled tightly. "I'm sorry I can't give you answers, love."

Hermione smiled back. "Perhaps it's better not to know some things."

Weeks passed. Using the notes Bellatrix had provided, Snape began to work on a long and arduous process of reverse engineering the lycanthropy potion. He found himself spending more and more time at the manor, delighted by the presence of his godson and even finding Granger minimally more tolerable than he might have.

Bellatrix continued to refuse to be helpful in any real sense, though she was feeding Snape and Lucius precisely enough information to be worth having around. One night Andromeda crept up and studied her older sister as the latter lounged on a divan, reading a novel she'd got from Narcissa.

"Something the matter, Andromeda? It's rude to stare."

"Trixie, what did you do to Hermione?"

"Nothing, deliberately. I was aiming for Draco."

"But why?"

Bellatrix put the novel down and gave her sister an almost playful look. "Come and let me brush your hair and we'll talk."

Andromeda swallowed hard and softly called an elf to watch them and make sure nothing happened. Stepping through the wards, she sat down at the vanity which had been provided.

Bellatrix took up the brush and unbraided her sister's hair. "Really, Meddie, you've let yourself go, hair wise." Picking up the brush, she began.

"Did Lucius send you to spy for him?"

"No."

"Why do you care, then?"

"Because she was a good friend to Nymphadora and Remus, and our only nephew's wife."

Bellatrix said nothing. "I've missed this."

When Andromeda's hair was smooth, Bellatrix braided it and tied it with a scrap of ribbon. Without any warning she slammed the brush down and gave Andromeda a hard shove, sending her sprawling. "Out!"

"Bellatrix, what--"

"Just go! I don't want to look at you! Go!"

Andromeda went. On the way out, Bellatrix said with sudden sharpness "Meddie!"

"What, Trixie?"

"Why didn't you take it with you?"

"Take what when?"

"The hairbrush. That night you left."

On the first day she was late, Hermione didn't say anything. She told herself that the next six days, despite the clockwork like regularity with which she'd menstruated in the past. She mentioned it once, in passing, to Narcissa. "Late?"

"Yes, Mother. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Mmm. If you should feel the slightest bit sick, I want you to tell me, darling. Do you promise?" She did.

By the second week she'd noticed her areolas darkening slightly. When she woke up one morning and immediately felt a rush of hot, sour bile in her mouth, she knew. After she'd swished her mouth and lay back down, she asked Tibby to go and find Draco, who'd be coming back from his morning flight soon.

"Darling? Tibby says you're vomiting. Is everything all right?"

"Do you think we should have been using contraception?" Hermione looked pale, forehead damp with sweat, and Draco snapped at Tibby to fetch a basin and cloth immediately. He dipped the cloth in, pleased Tibby had thought to add a little lavender to calm his little girl's belly, and gently bathed her face with it.

"Whatever for? We're married."

"I know. It's just with everything going on, it might not be a good time, is all."

"Mother didn't discuss this with you?"

"She did, it's only…"

"And you agreed to do things our way for a year. Married wizards and witches never…wait. 'Should have been'? Hermione, have you…? Are you sure?"

"Not completely."

"How completely are you sure?"

"Fairly sure, Draco."

She hadn't known what to expect, but whatever it was, his reaction was at the farther peripheries of her dreams. Draco started laughing, hard, and kissed her, still laughing.

Then, jumping out of bed, he didn't even bother closing the door behind himself. He walked across the hall and knocked hard on the door. "Draco, what--"

"Father, it's happened!"

"What's—ahhh. Are you positive?"

"Hermione says fairly."

"Draco! Congratulations, darling. Let me get Mother."

Two minutes later all three Malfoys tramped back to a slightly confused Hermione, who was still sitting in bed, trying not to sick up.

"Darling, Draco's just told us."

"I'm still not totally sure."

"Lucius, would you mind sending Lemmy to St. Mungo's for a healer? We ought to confirm this as quickly as possible."

"Let's just ask Snape, Mother. It would be faster."

"I suppose. Lemmy, tell Master Snape he's needed at once."

Ten minutes later, a rumpled looking Severus Snape appeared in the doorway. "Has Bellatrix lost whatever marginal sanity she had?"

"Severus, please. Hermione thinks she's expecting. We'd like confirmation, if you're willing."

Snape blinked with shock and then returned to himself. "Would you ask Lemmy to go and fetch my bag?"

Once his tools had arrived, Snape pulled out a phial of reddish black sludge and a small pin. "Your finger, please." Three drops of blood dripped into the sludge, which immediately turned a bright red.

"Congratulations, Draco, Madam Malfoy. You've fallen pregnant."

Hermione smiled but a slow frisson of unease had insinuated itself into her spine and crept up her neck to tickle her brainstem.

"Won't you sit down, Severus?"

"Thank you, but I must be getting back. If you wouldn't mind, I should like a word with the children."

The older Malfoys stepped out. "You know, Professor, we've known one another for eight years, and I'm married to your godson. Do you expect it's time you called me Hermione?"

Snape inclined his head stiffly. "If your husband does not object." Hermione tried to contain her glower and looked at Draco, who nodded, still grinning like a child at Christmas.

"Until we know what Bellatrix has done to you, it would be best if you minimized stress as much as possible. Given the circumstances, that may well be impossible."

"Do I have any restrictions?"

Snape smirked at his godson. "I should think, though please do consult a mid-witch. Nothing too vigourous in terms of…activity. No alcohol, no riding of brooms. Gentle exercise, the usual hygienic precautions, stay away from the sick and especially, for God's sake, from Bellatrix."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"It isn't as though I have anything else to do at this hour. Good day, Draco, Hermione."

Snape turned and swept from the room, robes flapping.

"Darling, I don't know what to say."

"I don't either. Hold me?" Draco lifted Hermione onto his lap as though she were made of glass and began to rock gently. "I don't think you're very happy, love."

"I suppose you could say I'm a little afraid. It's all so sudden. And I never thought I'd have a baby at this age."  
Draco held her closer. "No matter what happens, we have one another. Everything will be just fine, you'll see. Let's go and tell Aunt Andromeda, shall we?" He stood up, still carrying her, and they went into the bathroom to bathe. Hermione put her hand on him and made him whisper her name in a low strained voice, and then he did the same for her. They were happy.

Andromeda was, predictably, thrilled, as were the elves. Lirry made a veritable feast of Hermione's favourite foods, loaded with cream and butter to 'be making the baby strong'. Tibby and Leesy were seen hugging, sobbing with joy, and Lemmy actually smiled.

After they'd eaten breakfast, Lucius and Draco looked at Narcissa, who sighed, put down her napkin and nodded. "It's time." Andromeda quietly excused herself, wondering how large a disaster what came next would be.

The group made their way up the central stairs and went into a corridor Hermione had never been down. With Lucius leading, they approached the far wall. Lucius cleared his throat.

"Father? Mother?" And the portraits woke.

"Lucius? Darling, you've brought a visitor! This must be the granddaughter in law. Come closer, love, I should like a look at you."

Hermione stepped a little closer. Lucius' mother had been a beautiful woman, with huge violet eyes and curls of honey coloured hair. "Expecting already? We hadn't expected to meet you for at least another year. You've not been too demanding, Draco?"

"No, Grandmother."

"Now, my dear, I am Simpronia Malfoy, the daughter of Ajax Warrington and Callixta Jugson. What is your name, dear?"

"Hermione, Grandmother."

"And who are your parents?"

"My father is Cyril Granger, and my mother is Anne Marie Owens."

"Granger' said another portrait 'I can't place it. Is your father any relation to the Melchior Hobsons of Northhampton?"

"Uncle Cicero, that line died out a hundred years ago."

"Well, perhaps her father is very old. My great grandfather sired a child at one hundred and twelve. Or was it one hundred and fourteen? I don't recall."

"No, sir, I don't believe so."

"Then, dear heart' said a portrait who could only be Abraxas Malfoy ' who are you? Don't keep us in suspense."

Hermione looked to Lucius for help. "Actually, Father, she's muggle born."

The outcry was immense. "What? A mudblood?"

"Lucius, sweetling, this isn't at all a funny joke."

Abraxas looked nonplussed. "I trust, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, there is some sort of explanation for this…deviation?"

Draco stepped up. "It's my fault, Grandfather. I compromised her."

This time the noise was deafening. "SHAME! SHAME!"

"Lucius, disinherit this boy at once! And then yourself for allowing this!"

"That's your answer to everything, isn't it, Cosmo? Disinherit them! If you had your way, the manor would be inhabited by nothing but house elves!"

After the din had settled, Abraxas spoke again."Draco, I swear I remember teaching your parents a lesson about that. Did it not take?"

"I caused it, Grandfather. Draco caught me alone one night and took it upon himself to correct me."

" Is what this…woman…is saying true, Lucius?"

"Yes, Father. Draco determined that the only honourable course was to marry Hermione, and Narcissa and I quite agreed."

"This has something to do with those people that were here, doesn't it? I can always tell when you lie. Your right eye twitches slightly."

"Mother, I--"

"Pardon me, Lucius. Mother Malfoy, what they mean is Draco loves Hermione and she loves him, and that was enough for us. She's a good girl, kind and sensible, and Lucius and I are proud to have her for a daughter."

Hermione felt herself tearing up. Before anyone else could talk, a voice answered.

"I like her."

"Tertullius?"

"Why Narcissa, you've aged since I've seen you last. Still beautiful, my dear, though you've not dyed your hair purple like I suggested. When will that elf be coming to play the lute for me? I quite liked that elf."

"Peesy's been dead for years, Tertullius."

"Oh? Hmm, too bad, too bad. Do you play the lute?"

Draco lightly nudged Hermione. "He means you."

"No, Tertullius. I'm sorry."

"No matter. You've the bright eyed stare of a good owl. Do you juggle, many times great niece?"

"Tertullius, you old fool, this is serious! Draco has disgraced our line."

"Bah! You've always had the temperament of a hinkypunk hunter, Io. I blame your low eyebrows. Sign of a dull personality, that."

Io began to screech protests. Tertullius ignored her and gave Hermione a friendly if mad smile. "I'm quite insane, but I think we'll get on, little owl."

Abraxas sighed. "I would have a word with the girl by herself."

Hermione abruptly found herself alone with the hostile portraits of Malfoys past. "Well?"

"I'm sorry you don't like that I'm a muggleborn, but I refuse to be ashamed of what I am or where I come from."

"You sneak around at night, giving my grandson ample opportunity to compromise you. You bring impure blood into one of the oldest lines in wizarding Britain. You somehow involve yourself with those idiots calling themselves Death Eaters, and now you stand before us, totally impenitent?"

"Draco is responsible for his own actions. I love him deeply, but I did not ask to be compromised that night. I spent most of my childhood fighting those Death Eaters, and you're right, I don't regret any of it. Except sneaking out, of course. Mother and Father were very upset when they'd heard about that."

Abraxas went very still for a moment and then, shockingly, laughed. "Jolly good. You won't let me bully you."

"That's right."

"Which doesn't mean I approve of you, my dear. I trust Lucius' good sense, by and large, but I am reserving judgment as to this for right now. I presume my son and daughter in law have been working with you to correct the defects in your raising?"

Hermione bristled. "I wouldn't consider them defects, but yes, they've been working with me to help me understand what's expected."

"Perhaps you'd care to tell me your duty to your inlaws, then?"

Hermione straightened herself and recited the passage without hesitating. The corridor was silent for a long moment. "Well, that wasn't half impressive' said Tertullius. Everyone ignored him. "My dear, I cannot fault your knowledge. I should like to see more of you before I make up my mind. You'll come up every day after you nap to read to all of us. That should help form an impression."

"Yes, Grandfather."

"That will be all, then. Tell Draco he's to come with you, I won't have you wandering alone in your condition. And see that you drink more water, you're looking peaked to me."

"No' argued the Io whom Tertullius had cheerfully insulted 'she needs mare's milk with an infusion of loomwart to keep the swelling down. Are you wearing stockings? Take them off; they'll sap your moisture."

"Now, Io…"

Hermione slipped out, happy to be amongst the living once more. "We'll take you to meet the others tomorrow, love. I find I'm…very tired." Hermione shocked all of them by giving Lucius a hug. "I'm sorry, Father."

"Don't be, dear heart. They'll get used to you. And they'll all come around the second you start to show, if nothing else."

Hermione followed her family back to their quarters and rested. Later that afternoon, she and Draco owled a few close friends to give them the good news. Molly and Arthur were pleased, the Goyles were over the moon (and sent a long, badly spelled letter full of all the things Hermione was definitely not allowed to do, and a promise of a visit as soon as possible) and Harry, sounding a little disturbed, asked if the invitation to tea still stood.

No one had told Bellatrix, of course. It would have been added a burning curse to fiend fyre. But they'd forgot that the gallery was below the owlery and the little prison room. She'd heard enough, and, unseen, laughed a long, long time, her only accompaniment the soft hooting of owls.

**SPOILER AN:**

Every pregnancy is different. I would be very grateful to whomever would be willing to share experiences, useful websites, folk remedies, etc. for me to draw on in future chapters. I'd prefer to make this as realistic as possible, so the more low key and mundane the information, the better. I would never use anything in the story itself without permission, naturally.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**

**Muggles,**

**It's been some time. As I am sure the wellbeing of me and mine is your foremost concern, let me assure you we are as well as we can be, living with a muggle of such stubborn character and tendency to perverse defiance as Madea.**

** Our darling Countess Black is wonderful, as always. We spend as much time in her charming company as we can.**

**There are many thanks to be rendered this chapter:**

**--The starred portion is lifted verbatim from an old wizarding book which Madea insists (stubborn, see?) was written by some muggle called Donne.**

**--The Book which is discovered is a reference to something called 'Warhammer 40K'. **

**-Trixie's clue is from 'Ecclesiastes' whatever that is.**

**All the way back in chapter four of 'Favor me with Silence', Madea borrowed something from a muggle (Richardson ?--I didn't bother to pay attention). She is very sorry, and I scolded her quite sternly about her liberal thefts, which she insists are mere homages. I think her fingers as sticky as a hinkeypunk's, and watch her carefully around the family silver.**

** Yours,**

**Lucius Malfoy**

Hermione let her eyes drift shut as Leesy poured a ewer of water over her shoulders and back, making sure that every inch of skin was covered. One of the nicest things about her condition, she thought, was that her otherwise pleasant baths no longer ended with a dousing in cold water.

"It's being bad for the baby' said Tibby, frowning slightly. 'It's being better to use the herbs to protect young Madam from illness." And so twice a day, Hermione spent a hour floating in a tub of warm, but not hot, water, as the elves made sure she was well covered in the infusion of herbs that was supposed to protect her against miasmas and illness.

"Hermione? Darling, don't go to sleep." Draco lightly, absently touched her belly as he talked. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, feeling the exhaustion pulling her down as she did, making herself sit up and stretch.

"I've just woke up and I'm tired again. If Crookshanks were here, you'd not be able to tell us apart."

Draco stroked her damp hair. "Hush. You're doing just what you're supposed to. Everyone is too pleased with how well you've been resting.' He smiled devilishly 'I remember a little girl who used to throw awful fits about taking her nap. Did you know her?"

"If I did, I don't anymore." She snuggled into his shoulder and stifled another yawn. Draco frowned slightly and stroked her back. "When we get back, you're lying down. You look awfully pale to me."

"Nap with me?"

"Of course. Now,what shall we call the baby?"

"I haven't thought about it. What would you like to call it?"

"If it's a boy, I think we should call it Scorpius."

Hermione looked at her husband in consernation. "Scorpius?"

"Scorpius Black was quite a famous medi-wizard in his day. And has rather a nice sound, I thought."

"No, Draco. No Scorpius."

"What would you have?"

"For a boy? Hugo is nice."

"Hugo? _Hugo_?"

"Victor Hugo was a great author. And it's better than Scorpius."

"Bollocks. What about a girl, then?"

"You first."

"Aethelthryth. It means 'noble threat'."

Hermione stared at Draco without speaking for a long time. "No. A million times, no."

"How about Cyneburga, then?"

"That's better. Slightly."

"What's your choice, then?"

"Rose."

Draco snorted. "Not a bit muggle, that. Choose something with a bit of history, would you?"

Hermione said, very calmly "Draco, that was my Nan's name."

"Ah. Well. Shouldn't we be getting out, love? The appointment's for three o'clock sharp."

Hermione stood and let Leesy drape her in towels, drying her hair and skin. Her stomach, once flat, was developing a gentle curve, round and soft, and she found herself grateful for loose, flowing wizarding clothes.

Draco grinned and lightly kissed each breast. "Are they sore again?"

"Always. At least my nausea is better. For the moment."

Draco picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, setting her on the bed. Tibby darted over, holding Hermione's slip and drawers. "Hurry, young Madam, Tibby is not wanting young Madam to be catching a chill."

Hermione obediently let herself be helped into her clothes, along with a soft linen dress and robe in sea green. "We've a few moments, Draco. Shall we have some pumpkin juice?"

"Juice for me, hot milk for you. Three mugs a day, remember?"

Hermione grimaced and shook her head. "Not when we're getting ready to leave. It's too rich, I'll be sick again."

Hermione spent a goodly portion of her day wondering why anyone would bother calling it 'morning sickness' when it had become painfully clear that it wasn't. To make matters worse, she couldn't take anything; because Bellatrix refused to divulge the spell, even a simply stomach settling potion might do some sort of irreparable harm.

Not that the actions of the family, as well meant as they were, helped even slightly. Lirry had promptly begun cooking special meals, said to strengthen the mother and child, the practical result of which were large platters of food piled with meat tarts in heavy cream sauce, mince pies and jellied fruit. And the giant, sweet mugs of chimera's milk, infused with ginger to stem morning sickness and violets to stave off melancholy.

"I feel like a fois gras duck' she finally whispered to Narcissa one evening, who'd laughed and told her she was excused from cleaning her plate unless she felt up to it. Which would have been fine, had the elves not howled protests when Hermione didn't eat every bite. Young Madam would starve! She'd faint!

Hermione held her ground. Aside from that, and the baths in herbs, day to day her life had changed little. Except the tiredness and vomiting, of course. And the fact that even the lightest touch made her nipples feel like they'd been pinched in a vise; and the behaviour of the family, which made 'mother hen' seem neglectful.

Lucius poked his head in the door, which Leesy had opened. "Children, are you ready?"

"Almost, Father. Hermione, love, are you sure you wouldn't like a little milk?"

"Positive." She heaved herself to her feet, stomach jerking, and walked toward the door. Lucius cocked his head and studied her a moment. "My dear, you've a little bulge."

"I know."

"I think it's wonderful." Draco beamed at his father and Lucius smiled back, remembering the enormous pride he'd felt when Narcissa was expecting Draco. "So do I, love. Are you feeling up to walking to the carriage,or shall Draco carry you?"

"A carriage?"

"Of course. Women in your state mustn't Floo, it's too taxing."

"I can walk, Father. Really, I'm very well today."

"Aunt is still declining to go?"

"She has to go to the Ministry, something about her daughter's estate. She'll be back later today."

The three made their way slowly toward the front door. In the atrium, Narcissa was entertaining the Goyles. Greg beamed the second he saw them, walking to shake Draco's hand and pull Hermione into a gentle embrace.

Antigone was frowning. "Why do you look so pale?"

"Told you' mouthed Draco, as Hermione submitted to one of the woman's stiff hugs. "I'm fine, Antigone. Just a little tired, I suppose."

Galten looked at his watch. "Ready?"

The men helped the ladies in and Galten climbed onto the seat and clicked. Hermione wondered how many of the people within could see the thestrals that pulled it, a loan from Hagrid.

Narcissa took her hand and squeezed as the carriage lurched violently as it rose into the air, making her stomach wrench. "We haven't used the carriage in ages. It's been in the Malfoy family for four hundred years…" Hermione was grateful for the prattle Narcissa was using to distract the gentlemen from her green face.

Landing in a disused carriage spot in Diagon Alley, the group made their way to St. Mungo's. One of the benefits of status, thought Draco, was that one rarely waits. The gentlemen bid the ladies farewell and went to sit in the waiting room.

Ensconced in a private room, the three women faced one another. "Darling, do you need a basin?"

Hermione nodded and barely made it in time. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Finished?"

Antigone conjured a cup and gave Hermione some water to rinse her mouth with, along with a sliver of crystallized ginger to cover the taste of bile.

The medi-witch bustled in, briskly taking pulses and asking the usual questions about humour balance and so on. Hermione answered them, fielding the occasional interjection from Narcissa.

"Well, Madam Malfoy, I do wish you were gaining weight faster, but everything seems normal enough. Any progress on discovering the spells you were hit with?"

"None."

"We'll give the fatigue and nausea until your next appointment to improve, and then if it isn't better, we'll simply have to risk putting you on something."

"Couldn't potions mask the symptoms of whatever this is?"

"Yes, but I don't want you dehydrating. Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"

The medi-witch aimed her wand at Hermione's stomach and flicked gently. The room filled with a low, steady thumping. Hermione clutched her stomach and sat still, feeling for the first time that there was a tiny person inside her, a tiny person that she and Draco had made through their love for one another.

"Could we send for my husband?"

Draco poked his head in. "Darling, what…oh. Oh, my." He grinned broadly. "Mother, it's…."

Hermione went to stand and discovered with surprise and a clinical detachment that she her legs wouldn't stand. Knees buckling, she collapsed without a word.

Bellatrix Lestrange was dozing on the bed when the door flew open and her nephew stormed in, flanked by Severus Snape and a two tall, thickly built men that had to be brothers, and followed by Lucius Malfoy, who looked angrier than she'd seen in a long time.

"If—you—don't—tell—me—right—now—what—you've—done—I—will—bloody—well—kill—you."

Bellatrix giggled. "What's wrong? Is nephew's ickle wifey feeling sick?"

Galten stopped Draco's wand hand just in time. Snape stepped up and smiled. "We tried veritaserum and it didn't work, so I thought we'd try something experiemental."

He produced a phial of some deep purple liquid and nodded at the other men, who stepped forward. The older one sat and dragged Bellatrix, struggling, onto his lap, locking her against him, while the younger seized her jaw in one hand and her nose in the other, cutting off her air.

The second her mouth opened, Snape dumped the phial's contents down Bellatrix's throat, clamping a hand to keep her from spitting and gently massaging her neck to compel her to swallow.

Snape swished his wand and Bellatrix went rigid, petrified. "All right, Draco, bring them in."

Draco entered, levitating something behind him. "Oh, here, I remember here. Shall I sing a song? I know a good rendition of 'Sumer is acuming in'."

"It's quite dingy in here. Lucius, why have you moved me? I wish to be brought back. And why are strangers looking at me? I mislike strangers. Where is that elf? I don't want it anywhere near me, you know I can't abide elves…  
"Now, Io, let's be cheerful. Sing a round with me. 'Sumer is acuming in', tra la la."

"Do shut up, Tertullius."

"What have you given her?"

"A stimulant, to prevent her falling asleep. I'd say two hours ought to do."

"Io, Bellatrix is quite agreed that everyone is simply awful to you all time, and is awell with sympathy. And perhaps once Io is done, Tertullius, perhaps you'd recite the Trollish epic of Jtjsocmjdjr?"

"Delighted to, dear boys. Ladies first, Io."

"About time. Now, I had an older sister and my parents always favoured her by…"

Draco gathered some of Hermione's things and they left.

When Hermione woke, concerned faces hovered over hers. She smiled groggily and reached for Draco's face gently. "Draco?"

"Hermione, love, how do you feel?"

"Thirsty. All right, otherwise." She tried to sit and half a dozen hands gently pressed her down at once. The healer cleared her throat and they turned to look at her.

"Madam Malfoy, we've run some tests. Your heart beat was somewhat higher than usual, but other than that you seem to be fine. We've decided to keep you overnight for observation."

"And we'll be right here, love, never fret. Could she have something to drink?"

The healer, who'd made a single token attempt to get at least a few of the people clogging the room to leave and been threatened by numerous forms of half veiled violence, nodded tiredly and decided to find some poor gullible apprentice and stick him or her with these Death Eating control freaks.

As Hermione sipped at the door, there came a slightly awkward knock. Harry Potter, looking slightly less rumpled than usual, poked his head in, followed by Ron Weasley.

"Hermione?"

"Harry! How nice to see you." She didn't try to get up this time, but she did smile and stretch out a hand. "Ron. It's so sweet you came."

"Course we did. Here, Mum sent you some flowers." He held out some rather mangy looking tea roses, which Antigone Goyle took expressionlessly and went to find a vase for.

"What happened?"

"We aren't sure. It's probably nothing." She smiled again and felt how truly, deeply, bone tired she really was. Narcissa pulled her covers up as the girl spoke again. "I'm sorry to be such a bad hostess, truly. I know we were to have tea today."

" 'S'all right. We just want you to feel better."

The other two were nodding. Draco stood and caught Potter's eye. " Hermione's thirsty. Perhaps you'd help me scare up some pumpkin juice Potter, Weasley?"

The two quietly followed him from the room. As soon as they were out of earshot, Draco turned and swallowed hard. "It's Bellatrix. She hit her with some kind of spell. We're trying to figure out what, but Snape's found nothing."

"Anything we can do?"

Harry and Ron both noticed that Malfoy's—Draco's—fists were clenching and unclenching violently. "I know Grimmauld Place has a large library, Potter. Would you ask Kreacher to look for anything hidden? One doesn't leave books as Dark as this one must have been out in the open."

Harry nodded. "Weasley, would you ask your father to look in the archives for precedent? Or let one of us do it? Maybe if it's happened before…"

Ron made himself shove down his dislike of the blond prat. "I'll see what Dad can do. Do you, ah, need anything?"

"Well, if you've any expertise in Dark Arts which you've been hiding, now might be a good time to mention it. God damn it, we'd just heard the heart beat!" He buried his face in his hands for a second, breathing hard, and both of his old enemies stared at one another, unsure of how to proceed.

"Malfoy…Draco…stay calm. If you get upset, so will she. Hermione's like that."

Draco pushed his hair back into place. "Quite right, and the word you were groping for is 'empathetic'. Would you like to come with me for pumpkin juice?"

They both nodded, and Harry even had the foresight to stop and buy a few fashion magazines, for Ginny and Hermione both. Harry thought Draco seemed calmer on the way back, as though mastery over something, anything, restored his internal equilibrium.

Hermione had been carefully propped up on pillows, reassuring Andromeda that she was fine. She beamed as the three reentered the room. "You're all so sweet. And magazines! Something for us to look at."

She kissed her two best friends on the cheek, promised the next time they met would be more fun, and settled back with the former Black sisters to critique the next season's robes and hats.

Within a few minutes, Hermione's eyes were sliding closed. "Oh, I hate this."

Draco took her hand in his and asked, very quietly, if he and Hermione could have a moment. Lucius agreed that was a good idea and announced everyone would be getting supper at the Leaky Caldron.

As the sounds of footsteps faded, Draco dropped his head on his wife's shoulder. "This is my fault."

"No, it isn't."

"If I hadn't taken the Mark…"

"You'd be dead. Draco, please, don't be sad. We heard our baby's heart today."

He nodded and pressed her stomach gently. "It feels real now, doesn't it?"

"It does. Do you think it hears us?"

"Of course he does. I've brought something, actually. For the baby."

He reached into the bag he'd brought from home and brought out a battered children's book. "This was a favourite of mine, when I was a child. Father used to read me this one before bed every night."

"And now good morrow to our waking souls,

Which watch not one another out of fear,

For love, all love of other sights control,

And makes one little room an every where

Let sea discoverers to new worlds have gone

Let maps to others, worlds in worlds have shown

Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one."*

Hermione smiled. "That was beautiful. Nap with me?"

Draco plumped Hermione's pillow. "For a little while. I have to go and get a few things more from the house—clean clothes and such—but I'll be back tonight, and we'll share your bed." Hermione sighed as he began to rub her scalp. She felt good. Her eyes slid shut and she relaxed, lulled by his fingers in her hair.

As soon as the others were back, Draco nodded to his father and they rose, along with the Goyles. Leaving their women, the men Apparated back and made their way to the tower.

Snape was waiting for them. "Io is still talking. She's a cheerful soul, isn't she?"

"Like an attack of Ischuria. Ready?"

Snape grinned malevolently. "I was born ready, Godson."

They opened the door and Snape unpetrified Bellatrix, who sat up, eyes blazing, and spun on the portrait of Great great great Aunt Io. "SHUT UP! IT WAS CENTURIES AGO! THIS IS WHY NO ONE VISITS YOU!"

In the deafening silence that followed, Tertullius looked interested. "It's my turn. 'SnERK! HofSKfoj! HGEMJHfhRUEMK!" He began a laboured grunting that was either Trollish or some sort of lower intestinal distress.

Io had begun to cry. Tertullius, stopping with his…song…said kindly "Now Io, I love to hear your stories. Do tell me another."

'He really is mad.' Draco and Lucius were apparently having the same thought, because they shared a long look and then turned to Bellatrix.

"Ready to talk?"

"I hope you die."

Draco pressed forward. He was smiling. "That's funny, Aunt Trixie. Really a scream, because, so help me, if something should happen to Hermione---or the baby—if one of them should die---I'll kill you with my bare hands. Now, what did you do to her?"

Bellatrix suddenly began to rock back and forth, hands over her ears. "La la la la la la."

Greg snapped. Leaning forward, he picked the woman up and shook her like a rag doll, hard enough her teeth rattled in her head. "You SHUT UP and listen or I'll kill you myself."

Dropping her in a heap on the bed, Greg backed away. "Sorry, Mr. Malfoy, Draco. She was being a right cow about this."

"Quite all right, Gregory.' Lucius turned and gave his sister in law a terrible look. "Well, Trixie?"

" 'All that which is in light shall be proclaimed in Darkness.'"

They turned to go. Galten stayed in place a moment. "Why don't you just tell us?"

"What fun would that be?"

Owls flew from the owlery to every corner of Britain and beyond. Severus Snape quietly took his leave and Flooed to Hogwarts, where Minerva McGonagall looked at the bandage at his neck and said nothing.

He took half a dozen books from the library, a few more from his private quarters and Flooed back. By the time the ladies had returned, they'd been at it almost eight hours.

At midday, a knock on the study door made both men, dozing, sit up straight. "May we come in?"

Lucius and Snape stood when Hermione, pale but quite lively looking, came in, followed by Draco. "Father, Hermione and I have been talking."

"Oh? This is supposed to be a revelation?"

"No. I've told her about what Bella said, and she wants to help. I'm inclined to agree."

They both stared. "What? No, absolutely not. Get back in bed this instant, Hermione. Draco, I'm ashamed you let it get even this far."

"Listen, please. I have the skills for research, and I'll go insane if I have to spend any more time lying about with nothing to do."

"Love, what about the baby?"

"I could take the books upstairs with me. You both look exhausted."

"Draco?"

Draco sighed hugely. "I trust Hermione's judgment, Father. And I'd stay with her the whole time to see that she didn't overdo it."

Lucius could feel himself being convinced, quite against his will. "How is it, Hermione, you always manage to persuade me?"

She blushed slightly but stood taller. "Draco gave me lessons, I suppose one could say."

Lucius fixed his only child with a jaundiced eye. "Hmm, so you're to blame. Remind me to disinherit you after dinner."

Draco laughed. "I learnt it from Mother. Blame her."

"I certainly do. Minky, fetch Madam and tell her the children have conceived another daft idea."

Narcissa came down a moment later, looking flustered. "Hermione, why are you out of bed?"

"Draco, tell Mother what you just told me."

He did. "Darlings, you both know that's a bad idea. Hermione is awfully fragile, now especially, and the best thing is rest and calm. Why don't we have some milk sent up, hmm?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm going to go insane if I can't do something useful."

Snape found an unaccustomed spark of mercy in his chest. "Narcissa, Hermione is correct. She gets restive if she isn't kept occupied, and Draco would be there. If you're so worried, why not find a suitable chaperon?"

"Severus, are you volunteering?"

Resigned, Snape just nodded. "I suppose." Having sent an owl to explain the situation to Andromeda, who was still battling red tape over Tonks and Remus' estate, the group moved into the bedroom, with Hermione settling on the bed and Draco beside her and the others on chairs. Quills and traveling desks were produced and the group began to comb the books.

The confluence of extremely intelligent people, driven by extreme need, and working in extreme danger, produces some odd bedfellows. When Andromeda returned with Kingsley Shacklebolt and an armful of books courtesy of Harry Potter, no one said anything.

Hour after hour, the silent search continued, until Narcissa finally bullied Lucius and Draco having showers and naps. "After one of them wakes, Severus, we'll find clean things for you as well."

Knowing better than to argue, Snape merely nodded and went back to looking. He had to admit, the Granger girl had a sort of awkward charm. He'd never expected to see her face down both older Malfoys and win, let alone somehow convince him to plead her case. He was going soft in his dotage.

"Miss Gr—Madam Ma—Hermione, I wish to have a break to check your pulse." She put the book down and he had an elf fetch his bag. As soon as he touched her wrist, his heart clenched. Her pulse was fluttery. Not terribly, but faster than he might have liked.

"How do you feel?"

"Well. Thirsty, but otherwise fine."

He called for water and a snack to be brought. "Have you found anything interesting?"

"Not much. I wish my Latin were better. Dad taught me some, but I need to brush up."

He nodded and went back to his reading just as the door opened and both Malfoy men walked in, looking loads better. "Severus, my wife has found you some clothing. I suggest you shower or she'll send elves in to harass you until you do."

Snape stood and stretched, thinking his bandages needed changing anyway. As he started to leave, a 'pop!' was heard, and he turned to see Black's disgusting old house elf, looking like a demented Father Christmas,

"We is remembering we is hiding these!" It crooned, veritably dancing with glee. Hermione beamed and took them from the thing's withered hands. "Thank you, Kreacher. And thank Harry too, won't you?"

Kreacher bowed and disApparated with a flourish. "There goes the maddest house elf there ever was."

"Now, Draco, he's sweet once you get to know him."

"Yes, like beetleroot is sweet until you swallow it and your spleen comes gushing out your nose."

Snape examined the offerings. "This might be something."

Shacklebolt snorted. "Well said, Draco. May I see the green one, if you're finished?"

After Snape returned, they ate a supper of cold meats and cheese and went back to searching, with Narcissa joining them.

They searched ever onwards. Draco was the first to drift off; he'd been awake the whole night and most of the day. Lucius followed, and then Narcissa, with her head on Andromeda's shoulder, and then Andromeda on Kingsley's, until only he, Hermione and Snape were left.

Out of consideration to the sleepers, the candles were snuffed, until only a single taper lit the room. Snape did it accidently; he'd had even less sleep than the Malfoys. Hand trembling, when he reached for his ink well, his hand knocked the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

Hermione felt her scalp prickle as the book she'd picked up suddenly—squirmed. It felt almost alive under her fingertips, hot and _wrong. _It had begun to give off a faint glow, and the taste of cold iron filled her mouth. Under her hands, something thick and hot had begun to seep from pages.

Snape gasped with pain and the male Malfoys woke, grabbing their arms. The windows shook in their casings, and Hermione suddenly felt as though the world were closing in, as though the darkness were alive and pulsing. She smelt that cold, cold iron and—

The world returned as an elf lit the taper and set it back on the table. The three former Death Eaters sat shaking violently from the pain. Hermione immediately put her hand out to Draco and gasped when he flinched and started to cry.

Shacklebolt pulled the book from her hands. In the light it was unassuming, old and cracked. He flipped it over. "_Evinco timor di obscurum_."

"To conquer the fear of the dark?' Are you sure this was the one?"

Hermione nodded. "Isn't there something we can do?"

"Get up and take a walk, Hermione. The emanations will dissipate. We'll be fine." Hermione obeyed, and the other women joined her.

As soon as they were gone, Snape calmly snuffed the candle. Prepared, the burning didn't hurt as much this time as the cover opened and the darkness engulfed them. "_**Liber di Nequam Obscurum; Evinco timor di pessimus oscurum, ille facto res**_."

"What does it mean? Father? Godfather?"

"To conquer fear of the dark, become the worst thing in it. This is the book of Vile Darkness, Draco."

"It's some kind of cursed grimoire, obviously, but why did we all react so strongly?"

"Because this book is to grimoires as Magick Moste Evile is to tracts about the nature of Dark magic. Books of this type are designed to give the right sort of readers ideas about what's inside. The title is a sort of mean spirited jest, like a mask."

"What do we do now?"

Snape lit the candle again. "We send the ladies to bed, and then I—and Shacklebolt, if he's game—retreat to the laboratory and attempt to figure out what that mad bitch has done."

And that's what they did. Draco apologized for scaring Hermione, and she scolded him for worrying about her when he should be resting. He didn't mention that his Mark had darkened somewhat at the contact—brief as it was—with such Dark magic. Not tonight.

Snape took a few energizing potions and read through the night, with Shacklebolt sitting vigil beside him. His fingers found a worn patch on one corner, as though it had been redcapped by a reader. He hoped he was wrong. He prayed he was wrong.

At 5.15 he got a summons to the children's rooms, where Hermione, whey faced, was nonetheless very calmly waiting for him.

"I thought last night that I felt something when I touched that—that thing. But just now Draco felt it too. It's too early, isn't it? Much too early?"

He called for his things and saw no point in lying as they waited for the aura of the grimoire to clear enough for him to touch her. "Yes, it is. Swallow this."

She did. He waited for the potion to take effect and swished his wand. His face was still. "_Engorgio Intra_. Get Lucius and Narcissa. Now."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:**

**Muggles,**

**That hideous wretch of a woman is demanding that I, a Pureblood witch, write this note for her. I suspect it is because muggles can't read. Anyway, being as her comprehension of both magic and 'biology'(whatever that is) is so poor, she begs your forgiveness for any errors which she, in her arrogant ignorance, makes.**

**Being as all muggles are thieves, especially this one, she's appropriated something in this for her own use; it was said of the Emperor Tiberius that, if one could see his soul, it would show, 'like a slave's scourged back, the lashmarks of his cruelty. She's applied to my nephew somehow.**

**Also, I am ordered to thank a 'Countess Black'. Only because I wish to have I complied, you understand.**

** I forbid you from responding, lest this encourage the creature to make further demands on me.**

**Bellatrix Lestrange**

If the Malfoys' testimony had brought out the worst in many otherwise reasonable people, the news that Bellatrix Lestrange would be deposed in a closed session of the Wizengamot reduced the public to near hysterics. Getting the convict there, well manacled, charmed and disillusioned, was a terrible chore. The actual proceedings were five thousand times worse.

Many of those present had seen this before, and felt sickened, for they saw the faces this woman's actions had prevented from being there. Those who hadn't would have the whole spectacle burnt into their brains for all time; Madam Lestrange, dressed in black, boasting about her clever spellwork; the Mesdames Malfoy, the younger leaning on the older as they sat, whey faced, and waited to speak; the rage which emanated from Malfoy junior; the testimony from Shacklebolt which assured the woman would be kept under house arrest, as she had been for over a month.

"Now, Professor Snape, explain the mechanism of the spell to those unfamiliar with Dark magic."

"It causes the internal organs to engorge grotesquely. It's reversible, but the damage is severe, especially when the lungs are damaged."

"And the defendant's plan to use Sectumsempra after?"

"It would have rendered healing impossible. The organs would have bulged through the incisions, or else been gashed themselves."

"Why did it not cause Madam Malfoy to react earlier?"

"Dark magic is inherently unstable. It's more likely to react idiomatically."

"Could you explain?"

"Minor Dark magic tends to depend on a number of factors creating a sort of confluence. One has to mean it, but also have good aim and time on one's side. Madam Lestrange had only one those things, and Madam Malfoy's own luck and prowess were likely responsible for her relatively minor contact with the spell."

"So she might never have reacted if the series of events hadn't played out as they did?"

"It's possible. There isn't a single answer in cases like these."

The questioner nodded. "Is it possible that Madam Malfoy's attempt to save her husband caused some sort of limited shield, based on her love for him?"

Snape swallowed hard and looked away for a split second. "It's possible." He wouldn't allow himself to dwell on that. The bitterness would eat him alive.

"Nothing further."

Snape's part as expert witness done, Hermione stepped up to testify. She was wearing a robe which did nothing to hide her belly, curving sharply from under her breasts, and she walked slowly, as though in pain.

"You discovered the unique properties of the book?"

"Professor Snape and I, yes."

"And he's advised you as to effects of the spell?"

"Yes. My baby is growing at an accelerated rate."

"How far along are you chronologically?"

"Nine and half weeks."

"And physiologically?"

"Between eighteen and twenty, from what we can tell. The mid-witch is working with Professor Snape to try and find a way to stop it developing so quickly."

"And you feel your exposure to the book caused this?"

"No. I believe that it simply caused the process to go exponentially faster."

"Are you experiencing effects from the spell?"

"Yes. My heart beat is dangerous fast, for one. I'm dizzy and thirty all the time. My bones are weakening because the baby is taking so calcium--hardness-from them. I'm in chronic pain, as well, and have trouble sleeping."

"And the effects on the child--"

Hermione swallowed hard, just as Snape had done. "We aren't sure, but if we can't stop it, then it's not likely to—it couldn't survive that way."

The prosecutor looked uncomfortable. "Let the record show the court regrets this whole sordid thing every happened to Madam Malfoy. Nothing futher. Help the lady, Jenkins."

As Hermione rose and was taken into the hands of Auror Jenkins, the baby kicked, making Hermione's robes flutter. Just once, but the sight of it, the way the girl's hands flew to her belly and held it, comforting it and taking comfort, sent the verdict of those watching from merely undeniable guilt on the part of the Lestrange woman to a verdict of irrevocable damnation.

There was worse yet to come. An auror brought forth, with terrible efficiency, the testimony Draco had provided as regarded a certain raid in Kent. Even as the words rang out in the chamber, Draco felt his stomach heaving. He wondered whether, if one could look at his soul, they'd find that night there like a stain. Violence has a language all its own, garishly bright, as compelling as it repulsive, and it rang over the courtroom like a bell, filling them, making them see. No one left. They couldn't; a sense, shared by everyone present, that they were somehow morally obliged, made them stay.

They could do nothing to help the muggles. But knowing that, they sat in the stillness and saw with their inner eyes what was being described and felt in their hearts that simply being present in those moments, giving their silent anguish to the dead, might somehow soothe the unquiet spirits surely left behind, alleviate in some small way a bit of their suffering in the knowledge that they were not, in extremis, alone after all. The hearts of all those present beat, for a moment, with them, and for them, and hands reached through time and space to offer what comfort they could.

Draco sat with his head down and tried not to vomit as the recounting went on and on. He had seen these things in his dreams for almost a year but hearing them read aloud, reliving the final bloody minutes of those people's lives—those muggles, who'd just been at the wrong place at the wrong time—made it real again. He reached up to dry his eyes as subtly as possible and wondered whether his wife would ever look him in the face again.

A hand, hot and small and soft, slid into his, and Hermione leant a little closer. That was all but the mere action reassured him enormously. Poor darling, there was no way she could have been prepared for hearing all this, and she not feeling well already! He would have given anything to take her in his laps and calm her properly, but right now all he could do was hold the hand he'd been given and hope she didn't faint.

The reading finally ended and the room returned to the land of the living with the sound of Bellatrix's laughter. "Jolly good! Did my nephew mention how we made him watch while my husband took the little girl and---"

The outcry was immense. The members of the august body, those not too old to do so, leapt to their feet and shouted to drown out the obscenity Bellatrix was describing in graphic detail. The portraits got into it too, demanding the witch be silenced at once, ordering the hearing be recessed for decency's sake.

Draco rose to his feet and stumbled from the room, followed by his family. The prosecutor, having semi-restored order, sent an auror to assure they made it home with no harm. "Jenkins, remove that _thing _from the Court's presence this second. Prisoner is remanded to house arrest until suitable alternate arrangements might be made. We've recessed for today."

In Wiltshire, Draco was bent over the toilet in the en suite bathroom he shared with Hermione. He stood, wiped his mouth and brushed his teeth, twice. He swished with mouthwash and chewed a little of Hermione's crystalised ginger to calm his stomach before he stepped from the room.

He was blessedly alone. It had begun to rain, a fine drizzle hanging in the air. Draco pressed his head to the smooth, cool glass and closed his eyes. He smelled something sweet and half turned as Hermione pressed herself to him hard.

"Darling, what--"

Her mouth sealed to his and her arms wrapped around his neck. Draco's hands went into her hair tugged, feeling her hairpins shaking loose and distantly hearing the clinking sounds they made on the floor, raining down as he carried her to the bed.

"We're alive, Draco. We're alive and everything is all right."

He laid down and buried his head against her chest, hearing the beating of her heart, so fast, so fast and so hard, and the baby was kicking him, asserting itself. It was alive and they were alive and he was tugging her robes off and lifting her dress and unzipping and she spread her legs and suddenly he couldn't.

He sat down hard, his erection leaving him at once and Hermione sat and put her arms around him. "Tell me about it?"

He shook his head. "No, love. Please, no."

"We're married, Draco. We share everything. Even this."

Draco swallowed hard. "I never wanted you to hear…to have it touch you. It was…I don't know how to …" And then he told her, and waited for her to hate him, and when she didn't they simply laid side by side, just holding one another.

Draco's hand dropped to Hermione's front and stroked the hard dome of her stomach. Under his hand the baby stilled a moment and kicked lightly. Hermione looked sad and grave. "I wish you'd told me earlier, Draco. About what happened."

"I just can't stand the thought of burdening you."

"Oh, Draco." Hermione gently reached up and stroked her husband's hair out of his eyes. "No matter what, Draco, we have one another."

He nodded slowly. "There were so many things I did. Every time I closed my eyes, I had to watch them die."

"We all did things we aren't proud of."

"He liked to legilimise me. He'd make me show Him things. There was blood everywhere, on the walls and the floor and they made me touch, touch…"

Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione and pressed his face to her neck. She smelled so sweet, like flowers and skin. She'd gone quiet in his arms. "Then He knew about me?"

"He probed my mind. I couldn't stop it."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. She sat up and got some water from the nightstand. "Are you furious with me?"

"I-I certainly wish you'd told me that, Draco. Why didn't you ever?"

"Because it would have put you at risk, too. He'd have used you to punish me." Draco's throat felt thick, like it was lined in felt. "And then it was done. It seemed like there was no point in bringing up the past."

"I understand." She winced slightly, pressing her hand to her ribs and laid on her back, suddenly feeling the strength in her muscles dissolve. Draco was up calling for an elf. "Love?"

"I'm fine, Draco. Really, I just--"

"Bollocks, you're white as soap. Leesy, fetch a pain potion and something to strengthen the young Madam." Draco drew his wife into his arms and started rocking her. "How long have you been hurting, precious?"

"I started to get uncomfortable while I was testifying, but Draco, really, I'm--"

"Hush. Why didn't you take something when we got home, hmm?"

"Because I'm taking too much, Draco. It can't be good for the baby."

Draco brushed his lips across her neck. "Love, there's very little we can do for the baby. But it's my job to take care of you, and that means when you hurt, you'll be taking something. Now, since you couldn't be a big girl and call for your own potions, I'll be giving them you, and then you're having a good nap. Open, love. Every bit, now. There's the girl."

Hermione swallowed both phials and felt the stuff run slow, cold fingers down her nerve endings. She relaxed, fought the urge to giggle. Draco looked at his wife and raised an eyebrow. "It's making you giddy, isn't it?

"No, of course not. I just feel a little more relaxed."

"And happier, now that you aren't in pain, hmmm? All right, darling, it's time for a nap."

She shook her head firmly. "No, I'm not sleepy."

Draco stopped and stared at her for a second. "Sorry? Could've sworn you just told me 'no'."

"I did. Really, I'm not tired."

"Hermione."

"Draco, I feel fine." He tugged the duvet back and tucked her under with a look that promised dire consequences if she should dare try to get up. She didn't, but sat back against the pillow with a look that was nearly sullen.

"Is something the matter?"

"No."

"I can't make it all better if you aren't going to let me in a bit and tell me what's upset you, my darling."

He lay alongside her and snuggled her against his chest. "You haven't had a fit like this in a very long time. Let's talk about that, shall we?"

Hermione closed her eyes. "I don't want to. Please?"

His hand closed gently on the nape of her neck. "Why is it, little girl, that when it comes to other people, you're all empathy and cuddles and wanting to make them feel better, but when it's you, you want all of us to leave you in your misery?"

Hermione sniffled. "I don't want to be a bother. I'm sick and tired all the time and no one can do anything or go anywhere because of me."

"Hermione Jane! You know you aren't bothering us."

"But if it weren't for me--"

"I'd be unhappy, and so would everyone else. Even the elves. And if I ever hear you say such an untrue, abhorrent thing about yourself again, I'll wash your mouth out with soap, and that'll just be for starters, understand?"

Hermione dropped her head. "As silly as I feel admitting this, all I could think about today was how much I want my Mum."

A hand of ice closed slowly around Draco's heart. "That's not silly, darling. Shall I call Mother?"

"Your mother is wonderful, Draco, but I miss _my_ mother."

"Of course you do. You're a sick, tired little girl who wants her mother. That's the most normal thing in the world."

"If something happens to me, you'll find them, won't you? And tell them?"

The hand was squeezing hard. Draco held her closer, willing her to be healthy, willing her to live. "Nothing will happen. You'll be fine and so will the baby."

"Make sure they know how happy we were. They'd want to know that."

The hand was stifling him. "I'm sorry."

She reached up and cupped his face. "For what?"

"I can't fix this. I couldn't help those muggles in Kent and I can't make her tell us what she's done and I can't promise the baby will be all right."

"Oh, Draco. You don't have to, love. It's enough we're here together."

"No, it isn't. I want so much to take care of my little girl…"

Hermione kissed his forehead. "And you do, Draco."

Draco made himself forget the guilt and fear that were in his bloodstream. "I think that's some of the problem, isn't it? We haven't been making time for my little girl to _be_ a little girl. She's had to be very big and very brave, but inside she's really very small and afraid, isn't it?'

'It's very scary that she can't find the answers she wants, no matter how hard she looks, and she can't even get her bottom smacked to help her remember how much I love her. No matter how good she is—or how naughty a fit she throws—it's terrible not being able to make things go the way they always do, isn't it?"

Hermione sighed from the soul and let her eyes drift shut for a second. "I hate that you can read me this well."

"I don't. It reminds you how serious my obligations to you really are. Anyway, that's what that was really about, wasn't it?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't give me that innocent look, my girl. You wanted me to turn you across my knee to help you feel better."

Hermione blushed violently and suddenly found her hands fascinating. "That would help, I suppose."

"Mmm hmm. 'That would help' indeed. You know we can't."

"Yes, sir."

"Because it might hurt you, or the baby. And cornertime is out, because I don't want you standing that long, and you're due for a nap like it is. But I'll tell you what: I'm writing this down, and the second you're well, we'll settle this the usual way. Does that sound right?"

Hermione huffed but found herself nodding. "Yes, sir."

"Now, it's naptime, and I'd best not hear a word, understood, or I'll tell Father and he'll blister your ears for you. And he'll tell Mother and you'll_ really _get it."

Hermione laughed weakly. "I'm not sure Mother would like being used as a threat."

"I'm not sure Mother would like the train of thought you'd been entertaining. We all love you very much, and the baby as well. May I ask you something?"

"Anything."

Draco couldn't believe he was asking this. "What do muggles think happens to the dead?"

Hermione blinked and tried to find a way to explain. "Well, there's not one single strain of thought, but I was taught that…"

Draco listened and asked a number of salient questions. "So they'd not be angry with me?"

"The muggles? I wouldn't think so."

Not that he was concerned, naturally. Not at all. He wasn't even sure muggles had animae, let alone the correct procedure for…something. He wasn't sure what, but hearing their last few minutes had woke something in Draco. A sense of it not being over, perhaps. A missing act, an omission of some sort which nagged at him.

Near Otterburn, Greg Goyle was waiting to go to Malfoy manor and see his best mate and Hermione. Greg liked Hermione; and, being her husband's second, he was the baby's godfather. If anyone hurt Hermione, or his godchild, he meant to see they lost a few body parts in short order.

His head dropped down on his chest. They'd be leaving for a late supper and then, likely, some recreation. His eyes felt heavy and the fire was burning cozily. His eyes slid shut and then Vince was there.

"Oi, Vince."

"Oi, Greg. How's my Mam?"

"All right. Bad head cold."

"She needs to stop coming to see Da and me in the rain. Makes me worried. Da, too."

"I'll tell her. How're you?"

"Fine. That earring Tiggy lost rolled behind the vanity. Nipsy can get it."

Greg beamed. "Thanks, mate."

"S'all right. Tell Draco some things are only done when we end them. The Mask is slipping, Greg. Be careful, okay? All of you be careful."

"We will."

"I know." He sat on the arm of the wingchair and slouched against the back. "Hermione's Nan's getting upset she keeps overdoing it."

"Is she poorly? And the baby?"

"We're doing our best for them, Greg, but it'll be hard."

"Should I tell Tiggy? About Hermione overdoing it?"

"Yeah. She misses her parents something awful. Might help her to hear it from someone who's not Draco's Mam."

Greg, who knew a thing or two about missing one's parents, nodded. "I'm saving to buy something really nice for the baby. Like a toy snitch."

"You're gonna be a bang up godfather. I have to go, though. Just be careful, Greg. Promise?"

"Yeah. Bye, Vince."

"Bye, Greg."

Hermione swam back to conciousness to the sound of her husband's voice. "Darling, shhhh."

She wondered to whom he was speaking until he lightly stroked the area around her navel. "Father is here, my love. Mother is awfully tired, though, so let's let her her sleep, hmmm?"

Hermione yawned. "I'm awake."

"Oh. How do you feel?"

"Better. Hermione sat slowly and felt the baby shift in response, the returning of the knowledge she bore another life inside herself, safe in the snug darkness of her womb. Or not safe. Under the sweetness was an anger Hermione couldn't dwell on at the moment. It felt too strong to her, and she pushed it aside to simply lay in the near dark with her husband and their child.

Draco wondered what his wife was thinking, until she took his hand in hers and said softly "Do you know what she knows?"

"Tell me."

"Darkness. Warmth. Safety. And my heart."

In Wales, Fenrir Greyback roared, wadding up a sheet of newspaper and throwing it into the fire. This was not an especially unusual state of affaires, and so no notice was paid by those around him. The old man lying on the pile of skins wheezed a little but made no other sounds.

A female bent over him and poked him in the ribs. "He's in a bad way, Fenrir."

"Aren't we all? Get him some water, Edda."

She did. The old man swallowed a bit and collapsed back. Behind him, the cauldrons bubbled, ever closer to completion.

"It was a failure." Splitnail stood and spat into the fire. "Give up, Fen. We'll just stay here and---"

Greyback laughed. "How d'you plan on explaining all this to them, then?" He stabbed a finger toward the camp where nearly a thousand werewolves waited. Some, like Greyback, had embraced the Beast early in their new lives; others, the vast majority, had been passing for years or decades. Of these, most wanted simply to go home. Their attempts at finding a better life had failed.

"Maybe they'll---"

"What, Alvar, they'll accept that we're just to return to letting those bastards persecute us?"

"What's your great plan, then?"

"You know my plan. The old man will make the potion again, and this time it will work. We'll keep our humans minds, and when we do' he smiled horribly 'we'll go and pay Malfoy a visit, won't we?"

Splitnail shook his head. "You'd risk it all for to avenge yourself on that ass?"

Greyback shook his head. "Of course not. We'll have Granger by then, and Bellatrix. Between them, they're the key."

"To what? Greyback's cock?"

Greyback roared laughter. "No, you great bleeding prat!" He pointed to the crumbling newspaper, where a picture of Shacklebolt was just barely visible. "I hardly think the Minister will refuse a visit from our little war hero, do you?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**And my dear Countess Black.**

**Today is Mother's Day. It is a challenging time of year for many of us, who have lost mothers, who never knew their mothers or were mistreated or abadoned by them. **

** I'm not going to dedicate this chapter to mothers, deserving as they might be. Instead, remember those who, seeing hurt or need, are moved by compassion to help beyond the call of duty.**

**I dedicate this chapter****, with loving gratitude, to them.**

Draco decided to take some air after supper. The ladies had retired to do whatever it was they did in Mother's room, so Draco asked Greg whether he wanted to have a walk with him. He'd taken Teddy as well. "Start the little fellow right, with properly Slytherin company."

"Weren't his Mam and Da Gryffindors?"

"Well, yes, but if there's any hope of saving him from himself, we have to start now."

They walked through the garden, talking about nothing and everything, while the baby gurgled and cooed from Draco's hip.

Settling in the summerhouse, Draco handed Teddy to Greg, who immediately started gently bouncing him on his knee. "He's a good baby."

"He is." Draco picked up blossom of tuberose and showed it to Teddy, who was obligingly delighted by the sweet smell. He crowed, politely suggesting that Cousin wasn't going to get the full experience if he neglected to taste the white thing in his hands, and Teddy would be glad to lead by example.

"You'll be a great Da, Draco."

Draco felt absurdly moved. "Thank you, Greg. You'll be a good godfather, I'm sure."

"Vince said so. Said we have to be careful, though."

"Vince…told you this? When you went to visit him?"

"No, of course not. He comes to me when I sleep."

"Ah. Of course. Greg, have you ever' if someone had told Draco he'd ever confide in Greg Goyle, he'd have called them off their nut. As it was, he felt strangely comforted, knowing Greg, for all he wasn't smart, sincerely wanted to help him.

"Ever felt helpless? Really helpless?"

"Yeah. When my Mam left, I felt that way. Couldn't figure out what I'd done that made her not love me anymore." Greg said it all in a totally neutral tone of voice, but Draco noticed he was holding the baby a little more tightly.

"I understand now, of course, about she and that Halfblood. And Tiggy came, and that helped a lot, but at the time, I suppose I felt helpless." Teddy could feel that Greg was sad. He cooed softly and reached for his cheek, meaning to give him a pat. Perhaps he was gassy; that always made Teddy feel sad.

"I didn't mean to bring up something that upset you."

"'Course you didn't. It's funny, though. I want so much to hate her but I can't. Mam, I mean."

Draco felt a sudden, painful cramp of sadness for his friend. Mother might get on his nerves occasionally, but he'd never the slightest doubt she loved him totally and would never voluntarily leave him. Or Father, for that matter.

"I'm sorry, Greg."

"I'm an adult now. I can see her if I want."

"Do you? Want to?"

"No." Greg blinked twice and set Teddy against his shoulder. Teddy yawned and forced his eyes open. He didn't want to miss anything, after all.

"What makes you ask?"

"I suppose this thing with the baby has got me feeling a little helpless."

"Don't blame you. After everything with…well, you've a right to be afraid, after the year you've had. Vince said they're trying their best, though."

"They?"

"Him and Hermione's Nan."

A shiver raced from Draco's neck to his tailbone. "Hermione's Nan?"

"Uh huh. Vince said she's upset Hermione's been overdoing it, so I asked Tiggy to tick Hermione off a bit to make her listen. Hope that's all right with you."

Draco, who'd been on the receiving end of a Tiggy scolding, nodded. "Might help. She's stubborn about things. Maybe hearing it from Tiggy will make her see sense."

Teddy drowsed, debating whether to fuss. He wondered why the Big People were spending all this time being quiet when there was a whole garden to play in, not to mention lovely dirt and grass to grub about in one's hands. Who would chose silence when they could all be eating the myriad delicious things to be found everywhere?

Greg patted Teddy's back to make him sleepy. "She's probably scared too."

Draco smiled. "She's never admit it. Not in a million years."

"Course she won't. Tiggy'll make it better. She's almost as good as Da about stuff like that."

Draco surprised himself by patting Greg on the shoulder. "Shall we go inside?"

"Sounds like a good idea. Teddy's trying to eat my sleeve."

Tiggy had indeed taken it upon herself to tick Hermione off. Having promised Greg she'd have a word with the girl, Hermione found herself cornered as soon as it was feasible.

"Sit down. You look tired."

Hermione obediently sat. "Is everything all right, Antigone?"

"I was thinking earlier. I was supposed to spend the night before the wedding with you, but since we didn't know one another…is it all right if we do it now? Talk, I mean. Like we were supposed to."

"Yes, of course. What did you want to talk about?"

"Advice. I'm supposed to give you advice about being married. I guess you don't need it much, but I'm the best you've got as far as your Mam goes, 'til we find your real Mam, and so I'll try."

She sat down next to Hermione and stared at her shoes a moment. "Thing is, you and I are lucky. We both have husbands who love us enough to have married us despite what people said. Even though it would've been easier to give in, they didn't.'

'So when Draco tells us, or Greg tells us, that you won't take pain potion or naps like you ought to, remember we try to make you do these things because we care. Draco cares enough that he was going to duel Zabini, and Galten married me after…after my Mam. See what I mean?"

Hermione nodded. "I understand, Antigone. It's just hard for me to admit those things, sometimes."

"Shouldn't be. Families take care of one another." There was an ironic tinge to her voice, a kind of bitterness that made Hermione wonder what was under the stolid exterior.

"If you don't mind my asking, Antigone…"

"Mam wasn't…she wasn't ever quite right in the head. Saw things that weren't there, sometimes, but we always…we managed. But she got worse as she aged, and one day I went to see why she hadn't woke as usual and…"

Hermione was surprised when Antigone promptly reached up and stroked her forehead.

"That's my other piece of advice. Sometimes not being all right isn't an option. Any idiot can weather a crisis. It's the day to day living that grinds you down. That's why we're so lucky; we have people to love and who love us. They make it worth the struggle."

If Hermione had learnt anything in the past few years, it was that adult knowledge isn't free. It's bought, bought with pain and devotion and long, sleepless nights, bought with doing what needs to be done no matter how terrible it is, bought with the certainty that to falter is to bring ruin on those around you.

Antigone understood that. She'd done those things, and seen them, and fought her own wars, she and all those like her—who'd gone into the fire because there was no other way, who held their posts and prayed and never complained—and Hermione understood she was being given her place in a line which transcended magic and muggle, time and space; those women, nameless and faceless, on whose shoulders she and Antigone now stood.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, they are. And if we never find my parents, Antigone, I'm proud to have you as a step-Mum."

Antigone refused to cry in front of others. She just wouldn't, but her eyes were very bright as she gave Hermione a stiff squeeze on the shoulder. "Means a lot. Sure you don't want to lie down?"

"I think I'll sit up a while."

Andromeda took Teddy from Draco and carried him up the stairs, shooing away the elf and settling with him in the rocking chair. The baby was dozing, little mouth open slightly, showing the tooth which had begun to poke through his gums like a single fence post.

A sound made Andromeda put her head up. Hermione stood in the door, looking bulgy and awkward and tired. "I'm sorry, Andromeda. I didn't realise you were here."

"Quite all right. Come and sit with us?"

Hermione made her way slowly to the duo in the chair. "My legs feel numb sometimes."

"The baby is resting on your spine, likely. How are you feeling?"

"Antigone and I were talking. She scolded me for not taking pain potion."

"You won't win any awards for refusing, my dear. And Cissy has a way of getting just what she wants."

Hermione laughed. "Draco does too. It must run in the family."

"When we were children, she had all of us wrapped around her finger, even Mother. Bellatrix was always Daddy's girl, but Cissy was everybody's pet." Andromeda smiled slightly. "You'd never seen such an angelic little thing. Used to get in the most awful mischief. One time she snuck into Mother's rooms and spilt perfume everywhere accidentally. We just followed the fragrance all the way back to her room and under her bed."

Hermione snorted helplessly. "I can't even imagine."

"And to top it all off, she'd fallen asleep. If Trixie or I had done a thing like that…" Andromeda trailed off grinning. "Now, Dora, she took after Ted. Her mischief was always up front. She got stuck on the roof once, if you can believe it. I had to call Arthur Weasley to help me get her down."

Narcissa poked her head into the room. "Meddie, are you telling stories to Hermione?"

For someone who complained about certain baby sisters who looked all too innocent, Andromeda had a good guiless look herself. "Now, Cissy, would I do such a thing?"

"Certainly would. Anyway, Hermione knows I was a perfect little doll as a child."

Hermione looked aside. "I have nothing to add, Mother."

"Of course you don't. You quite like being able to sit down, hmmm?"

All three laughed as Andromeda gently eased Teddy onto the mattress, the vigilant Tibby appearing to start her watch.

After bidding the Goyles good night, the family retired. Dressed for bed, Hermione laid beside her husband, fragrant with herbs and sweet, clean skin. He put his magazine down and laid his head on her stomach. "Draco? What happened to Greg's mother?"

He jerked. "Where did you hear that?"

"Antigone and I were talking."

"She ran off with some Halfblood. Lives in Marseille, I think. Or something like that, anyway. We were, what—seven or so?"

"And then Galten married Antigone?"

"Father paid her bride price so they could get married. It was something of a scandal at the time."

"Why?"

" Her mother did away with herself. Antigone found her, from what I can tell, and her father wouldn't give her a bride price because he thought she'd go mad too. Wouldn't have ever married if Father hadn't stepped in. The Goyles were already tainted with the scandal, so they took her for a few hundred galleons. A kind of happy ending, I suppose."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "That's horrible."

"Everyone has a story, love, and anyway, she seems happy enough. Greg adores her. Anyway, I won't have you dwelling on things like this, it'll make you sick. How did it even come up?"

Hermione explained. "That's funny. Greg and I were talking about his mother tonight."

"What about?"

"Feeling helpless."

Hermione stroked her husband's hair and traced his neck with her fingertips. "It could be worse, I suppose. At least everyone we love is safe at the moment."

Draco nodded against the hard bumps of her belly. "Mmm hmm. Now, shall I read my little girl a bedtime story?"

The next day Hermione was feeling well enough to receive callers, who turned out to be Augusta Longbottom and Neville, with Luna happily following. "You look beautiful, Hermione. We've brought you something special."

Hermione made herself look delighted while cringing internally with horror. Praying it wasn't related to beets or some other horrid vegetable, she smiled with relief when it proved merely to be a bouquet of posies. "Augusta grew these in her garden."

"They're lovely. I'll put them in water at once." The hyper active Minky appeared to take them and find a suitable Longbottom, clad in her eternal green dress and purse roughly the size of a standard motor way, gave Hermione a long, appraising look.

"I expect you understand this isn't totally a social call."

"You want to see Bellatrix."

"We'd be obliged if you'd ask your mother in law."

Hermione sent an elf after Narcissa and she appeared. "Augusta, how nice to see you."

"Narcissa. May we see her?" As she spoke, Augusta set her wand purse down.

"Do you feel it advisable?"

"That's our affaire."

"Of course. At the same time?"

"We'll go up together, but in seperately. Neville first, if you'd be so kind." Neville divested himself of his wand and trailed the elegant Madam Malfoy as they ascended the tower. He felt very calm and very sure of himself. A lot of thought had gone into his decision to confront the woman who'd haunted him for almost twenty years.

Bellatrix laughed when she saw him. "Come to play, Longbottom?"

He was a head taller than she. "I want to hate you. After all these years, I want so much to hate you."

She stretched, bracing her back with her hands and giving her torso a slight wiggle to make her little breasts bounce. "Tiresome. Like your parents."

"I remember it, you know. Just a little, but sometimes in my dreams I can hear it. They scream and scream, and then they stop. I was upstairs. Did you know I was there? Listening?"

Bellatrix shrugged loosely. "Just because they were your Mummy and Daddy, Longbottom, doesn't mean they mattered to me either way. Nor you. For me, it was just something to be done."

"I know. I spent a year with Amycus and Alecto at Hogwarts, remember? You cruciated me once, I think, while you were visiting Snape."

"Don't remember that, either. They've been so many who have felt my _touch_." She raised an eyebrow, slowly, and Neville felt sick.

"That's why I can't hate you, I reckon. You're below that. You're below everything except pity, because people like you aren't even really human anymore. Remus was a werewolf, but he was more human than you'll ever be. And I hope you live, just like this, a long, long time, knowing I feel sorry for you."

He turned and left the room without another word. It took Bellatrix a moment to realise she'd been cut. Bolting from the chair, she ran toward the door. "Longbottom?"

He kept walking. "LONGBOTTOM!" He never stopped until he was in the parlour with his Luna, and his friends, and his life.

Augusta Longbottom was, in a spiritual sense, mother to Hermione. And Antigone, and Narcissa, and every other woman whom, faced with the untenable, rolled up her sleeves and set to work, swallowing her tears.

It should come as no surprise, then, that she was quite serene, almost regal, walking into the room. Bellatrix looked at her and made a face. "What is this, visiting hour at the zoo?"

Augusta didn't deign to reply. Instead, she raised one delicate hand, stripped of her moonstone ring for the occasion, and slapped Bellatrix Lestrange, the most dangerous Death Eater in Britain, across the face.

Bellatrix could only goggle as she was left alone in her room, with only the rustle of owls' wings for company as the woman walked away without another word.

That night, Augusta found herself sitting up past midnight, a cup of cold tea in front of her, the kitchen dark. The candles flared and she rose, wand in hand, only to find Neville frowning at her.

"Gran, it's almost one. You promised the medi-wizard you'd sleep more. This isn't good for your heart."

Augusta started. Had Neville just told her to go to bed? Her meek, shy Neville? She shook her head and motioned for him to sit down. "Tea?"

"Thanks. Xenophilius invited me to dinner tomorrow.I'm going to ask him after. The green robes, do you think?"

"The blue, they make your eyes stand out. And bring Luna something."

"Luna's not like other girls. Wonder if I should bring her a bug or something?"

"Your Grandad didn't have any money when he and I first started courting. He used to bring me pretty stones from his garden."

"Really?"

"Fifteen of them." For a moment her tired body melted away again and she was seventeen, and her hair was black as a rook and nothing on her body hurt.

"Like the stone path in the garden?"

She nodded. "Exactly like." Neville chuckled and nodded in understanding.

"I thought what you said to that woman was…appropriate."

"You mean Bellatrix."

" I wouldn't have had your courage, had it been me."

"It wasn't…it's true, isn't it? She's not…not even really…she's an animal. You can't hate an animal, or a plant. They just are what they are."

"I heard what you asked her, too."

"Oh, Gran, I'm sorry. I never meant--"

"The answer is no. They didn't know you were in the house. You'd been petrified and hid."

"But how--"

"They were living in a flat at the time. You slept in their room, in a little bed Frank had made you. When your parents heard them, one of them spelled you and shoved you under their own bed."

"How do they know?"

"The Crouch boy talked. He said Alice was in the kitchen, and they took her right away, but Frank came from the other room and tried to trade himself for your mother. They took him, too."

Neville swallowed hard. "He could've got away. They could've--"

"No. They loved you, Neville. So do I. I know I don't say it enough, but I do, and the older you get, the more of them I see in you. Frank was very like me, you see, always forthright, but Alice…she'd have forgiven that woman, like you."

"I didn't! I don't forgive her."

"But you don't hate her, either. You saw her for what she is, and you gave her compassion. That's Alice to the core."

"Then she was lying? Bellatrix?"

"I don't know, Neville. They probably thought Virgil and I had you for the night."

Neville realised something. "They could've given me up. Told them."

"Yes. But they wouldn't have. If you ever find yourself in doubt, remember that. They loved you so much."

Then he was crying and so was she, and they embraced. "I'm sorry, Gran. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. We should've had this talk years ago. Why didn't you ever mention your nightmares?"

" I didn't want to remind you."

"You must understand, it's hard for me in a different way, what they've become. They were so young, and so very _good_."

"They deserved better than her."

"Yes, they did."

"Would you mind if I went and saw them tomorrow?"

"Do."

And he did. Hair freshly combed, Neville went into the room which was his nightmare and greeted his parents. They rose from their chairs, not knowing who he was or that their last conscious thoughts had been of him.

"I've brought you something. Sweets." He handed them the bag and watched as they tore off the wrapping and crammed the bon bons in their mouths.

"Gran and I talked last night, She told me everything. I can't ever repay what you did, but…I think about you every day.' He took a deep breath. 'I saw her yesterday. Bellatrix. I realised that…it would be worse, having someone like that for a mother. She's nothing, and you…you're my Mum and Dad, and I'm proud of you."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the other thing he'd brought.

"That's Luna. She and I…I'm going to ask her to marry me today. I wanted your permission. Gran likes her, but I wanted you to know." They wouldn't, couldn't actually give their permission, but after last night, to refuse to acknowledge them would be obscene.

Alice took the picture, making little excited noises, and handed it to Frank. He eyed it, enjoying the play of colour and movement, and took it to the wall where Alice hung the sweets wrappers. He stuck it with a bit of tape, right in the center. Two figures waved in front of a lake, a tiny blonde girl and a dark haired boy who was strangely familiar…

Alice had no earthly idea who he was, this sweets bringing boy, but she liked him. Fragmented within her, the shards of her memory moved her to respond to what she heard in his voice.

Smiling, she unwrapped a sweet and popped it in his mouth. Tears formed in his eyes. "Thank you, Mum."

Alice beamed and lightly stroked his face with her palsied hand. She liked this boy. He was kind. Somewhere her spirit knew that Neville had faced the woman who'd ruined his life and overcome her with the same compassion which made him ask his parents about Luna.

Augusta was right. As Alice and Frank watched Neville leave, they were proud.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:**

**Darlings, it's been forever. Firstly, let me reiterate that our dear Countess Black is always gracious and wonderful. We do so enjoy spending time with her.**

**Madea feels simply horrible that she forgot to credit a gentleman called Anton Chekov in her last chapter. The part about 'Any idiot weathering a crisis' is taken wholecloth from this fellow. She tells me to say that, based on her reading, he seems like he would be 'cool' with her forgetfulness. I really must work on her language...And the story of Arria is from Pliny.**

**I hope darling Trixie didn't scare any of you. She's just very...is 'ebullient' the word I'm after?**

**Anyway, do leave me a note.**

**Narcissa Malfoy**

Hermione knew Draco was smirking at her. She could feel it on her back, and cursed that he looked so damned handsome when he did it, because she was ready to kill him. That wasn't an option, not with the many generations of Malfoys watching her.

She took a bite of her pasty instead. Lirry, the cook, made the best food Hermione had ever eaten, hands down. It was most unfortunate that nothing looked good. The crust of the pasty was flaky and light, the inside stuffed with cold roast pork and gently browned apples, tender and still slightly sweet. Objectively, she knew she should be enjoying this.

Her body disagreed. Her stomach was acting up and had been for days. If it didn't improve, she knew, she'd have to go to St. Mungo's. So here she was, forcing down another bite of pasty. The portraits were nodding in an approving way.

She set the pasty down. "Shall we go on?" The book was resting on her lap and she smiled winningly at the portraits, hoping to distract them. They were having none of it. "Darling, you've more to eat there."

"I'm quite full, Grandmother."

Draco interjected from his place by the window. "May she let it settle before she tries anymore?"

"For a few moments, but neither of you are leaving until it's gone, and some milk as well." Hermione fought her urge to gag at the very thought and picked up the book again.

"That's enough for today. Draco, you may step out and remain until summoned."

He did. Simpronia smiled charmingly at her husband. "Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you and the other gentlemen would care to step out as well?" Hermione watched as all the men vanished from their portraits and reappeared in the canvas of a huge painting of Malfoy manor that covered the other wall.

"They'll go into the house for a while so we ladies might speak. Now, how are you really?"

"Tired. I hurt all the time."

"And yet you won't go to hospital."

"I can't bear the thought---I've always hated hospitals."

Simpronia huffed. "I've always hated a good many things, but that never stopped me from using them when it was expedient. Do you need to go? Truly?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I feel almost normal and other times…"

"I wish I could help you, child, truly. As much as Grandfather and I might feel—shall we say, uncomfortable—you've done better than we'd any right to expect. How do your own parents feel about this?"

"They don't know. They're in Australia."

"Sorry?"

She explained. As much as she resented Simpronia's attitudes, there was something comfortingly matter of fact about the woman herself. "I see. Has my son made in progress in finding them?"

"We've decided to put off looking until things settle down."

Simpronia said nothing. She had thoughts about the whole thing, but for now she would keep her own council. "You made no objection?"

"It's not safe. They're muggles, they'd be helpless."

"Were you close with them?"

"Yes and no. As I got older, we…I kept things from them. It was safer."

"I assume that issue has been addressed?"

"Yes. I miss them very much."

"And they you, I'm sure."

"No. I obliviated them so they wouldn't worry about me."

A sort of hush fell over the Malfoy women, all of them. Some of them were appalled; some of them imaging the plight of the woman who'd borne this child and now forgot her; some merely listening.

"Do you know the story of Arria? Go and look it up and come back tomorrow. But first, my girl—do finish your pasty."

Lucius reacted to the summons from his parents' portraits with a sort of nervousness which was, frankly, ludicrous, given their incorporeal state and the fact he was in his forties. Reminding himself of those facts, he approached the portraits with a confidence he didn't feel.

"Good evening, Mother, Father."

"Good evening, Lucius. Hermione has told us something most interesting." Simpronia briefly outlined the conversation, giving her son a Look which demanded total candor. Next to her, Abraxas cocked his head and gave a disquieting smile.

"I must say, either the girl has been extraordinarily taught or misled most cruelly. Who told her to obliviate them?"

"No one. She did it on her own."

"You had no hand in this? Nor Narcissa?"

"No, Father."

"Interesting. How has she dealt with their absence?"

"Well, I suppose. Hermione's very self sufficient, she normally doesn't discuss her feelings without prompting."

"That's bizarre. Were they terrible to her?"

"I would think so. Hermione insists they were wonderful, but… she's mentioned some rather disturbing things."

"Oh?"

"For one, they never punished her."

"Ever?" Simpronia's eyes were very wide, and she gave her son (who, in her mind was still liable to get confused about things, being awfully young) a searching look. "Really and truly?"

"Never. The very first time was--" Lucius suddenly realised what he'd been about to say and trailed off.

"With Draco. Why do I suspect, Lucius, there is more to that story?"

"It was a hard year, Father. I suspect there's a good deal even I don't know."

Letting it alone for now, Abraxas turned to his wife. "Shall we continue?"

"Of course. What else? That can't be all."

"Apparently, muggles routinely send their children away by themselves for hours. And make them eat the most awful things, and hardly buy them clothes. When we first went to the house she grew up in, most of her clothing had belonged to other family members first."

Both elder Malfoys looked shocked. "The poor thing! No wonder she won't go to hospital! She's probably used to being in pain from feeding pigs all day."

"I don't believe Hermione's family kept pigs, Mother."

"Did you ask? You mustn't assume, my darling. One never knows with muggles."

"Now, Simpronia, do be reasonable. They have servants for that sort of thing, even among mugggles."

"Actually, Father, Hermione's parents didn't keep servants."

Abraxas raised his eyebrows, a look that Draco and Hermione both knew far too well. "No servants? Who dressed the child every day?"

"Hermione dressed herself. I must say, it was very clean inside, and not terrible. Miniscule, but clean and even rather cosy."

"Did I not spend enough time with you as a child, that you would say these things?"

"Of course you did, Father. It's a new world, is all, and if it isn't the one we thought to make, I daresay we fared well all the same."

"Indeed. Just see that the girl is getting what she needs, Lucius."

Simpronia gave her only child a penetrating look. "I understand the usefulness of keeping things this way, dear heart, truly. But if you intend on finding them, do so before the child can't bear to disturb them. It would be far crueler to let her see that they don't need her than to make sure they're never found."

Snape quietly left the laboratory he'd taken over and closed the door behind himself. The book was safely looked behind several kinds of wards, guarded by an elf. He washed his hands and crept softly along the near silent corridors, knowing the family was occupied.

It was as thought she'd known he was coming. She pouted coquettishly when she saw him. "Severus? It's been simply forever, hasn't it?" She'd taken off her robes and dress and lay in only her camisole and drawers. Her nipples poked through the thin fabric, and once, the sight of them rubbing sweetly against the lace of Bellatrix's undergarments might have driven him to desire.

"Might we skip the preliminaries, Bellatrix?"

"That's what you said last time." She rolled on her stomach and picked her feet up like a teenager, head on hands as she studied him. "Come for another hint, have you?"

"No."

"No?"

He sat down beside her. She slithered closer, reaching with one small, hot hand to cup him through the wool of his trousers. Snape felt himself hardening against her fingers. "And you said you don't want it."

Snape struck, grabbing her hands in his, flipping her and forcing her down on the bed, arms above her head. "I don't. Now tell me what you've done."

"Could you be more specific?"

Snape dropped his head to her ear. "How do I stop it, Bellatrix? The spell?"

She laughed. "Who says you can?"

"Have we forgot third year history of magic, Bellatrix? The third law of Agrippina states that for every spell, there exists a counter-spell."

" 'But where are the snows of years passed'?"

"Lucius is running out of patience, Trixie, and so am I."

She squirmed under him, legs coiling about his with surprising strength. "Oh?"

"Oh."

"Time to sing for my supper, is it?" She writhed against him. Snape stared down at her, and said nothing, and finally she put her hands to his chest and shoved. "Gerroff! I'll tell something…later. I need to rest right now."

Hermione was helping Narcissa do accounts while Draco paged idly through the Prophet, grousing that whomever was writing the comics these days was an idiot.

"Depending on your health, love, I've told Father we'll be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get you some maternity clothes. And some things for winter, as well."

Hermione felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of leaving the house, followed by a sort of deep sadness; it was a terrible thing, to be so pleased at the thought of errands. "Can't we just enlarge most of my things now?"

Narcissa gave her daughter in law an incredulous look. "Darling, that's…unnecessary. And you haven't any autumn clothes, anyway."

Draco dropped his voice and leant closer. "It's no good, Hermione. I've spent years trying to weasel my way out of going, and it hasn't worked yet."

Hermione nodded and began to check her figures again. "I think Lirry's made a mistake here, because we've not had oysters in a long time, and yet the grocer is charging for--"

"SNAPE!" The shriek rang down the long corridors and stairs of Malfoy manor, startling the elves from their rooms and causing the house elves to howl with terror and unhappiness at the routine being disrupted.

The people in Narcissa's sitting room didn't known anything was amiss until Andromeda knocked and was admitted. "Cissy, Trixie's been screaming for ten minutes."

"Really? About what?"

"For Snape."

Snape was duly sent for, and he went to see Bellatrix with a sort of joyful pique in his heart. "What, Trixie?"

"I'm ready to do a bit of talking."

"Go on, then."

"Not with _you_. You've been boring me."

"With whom, then? Perhaps you'd like me to invite Helga Hufflepuff to tea?"

"The mudblood, of course. I'll speak to her."

Snape relayed the news. "She wants me?"

"People in the Great Wastelands want jumpers." Draco moved a little closer to his wife and slid his hand into hers.

"What did she say it was about?"

"It doesn't matter, you aren't going to go."

"Snape?"

"No, I said."

"Would you excuse us?"

As soon as the room was cleared, Draco held up a hand. "Whatever you're going to say, save it. The answer is no and that's final, now sit down, an elf is bringing you something to calm you down."

"I'm not upset."

"I mean it, Hermione, this is too far. You don't know Bellatrix like I do. She's devious."

"It might be important, Draco. It might be about Mundungus."

"She just wants to torment you. They sent you Fletcher's tongue, for God's sake, what do you think she wants to do, help you?"

"She's tried toying with us before, and it got us answers. Please, Draco?"

"No, love. Ask me for anything, anything at all, but not this. Anything but this."

He picked her up and set her on his lap, half expecting a fight. She didn't. "There's no way for me to change your mind?"

"None."

"Why don't we talk about this later?"

"Fine, but I'm not changing my mind."

Draco was torn with something that felt a good deal like that uncomfortable feeling he'd had the night Mother had told Hermione they wouldn't be looking for her parents right away. It wasn't guilt, certainly, but it was close.

At one level, he felt almost resentful; why did she have to want to pursue this? 'Just let them go' he wanted to say to her as she dozed on his chest 'You've got us now, and the baby, and we can move on. You'll forget them soon enough, and we're happy, aren't we? Aren't we?'

Bellatrix kept screaming off and on until someone—Snape?—went and silenced her. Draco didn't know that; he went and flew on his broom until right before supper, and changed in his own rooms. Hermione, Mother explained, was resting in her own rooms, and had asked for her supper to be sent up. Conversation felt subdued, almost wrong. Girding himself, Draco asked to be excused and left to have this out once and for all.

She was sitting in the chair closest to the fire, sipping pumpkin juice meditatively. A nearly untouched tray sat at her elbow, and Leesy was hovering a few feet away, looking distraught. He settled on the arm of the chair and waved a hand at the elf.

"You, out. Hermione, love, what are you doing?"

"I wanted some time to think. There's a lot on my mind, Draco." She wasn't looking at him. A suspicion as terrible as it was seductive bloomed in his mind.

"You've been here all that time, just thinking?"

Hermione got a funny look on her face. "Is there something you'd like to ask me?"

"How do you mean, love?"

"If you're going to accuse me of sneaking out to see her, just do it."

Draco swallowed. "I never said--"

"You don't have to. It was all over your face."

"Yes, because you'd never do a thing like that, certainly."

"I haven't in a long time!"

"Because I taught you better! I never said you do these things maliciously, Hermione, but you do them, and don't try to deny it."

"It hurts that you think I'd sneak off like that. Don't you think I've any respect for you?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Why didn't you just ask, then?" Hermione wondered whether she was acting irrational. Could this be hormones? Was she right to be upset? Draco was staring hard into the fire, not looking at her, and she put a hand to the back of his neck.

Draco pulled his shoulders up, viscerally brought back to Him…He used to do that…he could almost smell Him, that sweet sour smell of decay and the cologne He used to mask it…Vanilla and something citrusy…the room was closing in on him, on them…

Hermione jerked her hand back. Draco was blank faced, hands gripping his robes. She started to say something, anything, when he gave his head a forcible shake. "I didn't have to. You got upset preemptively."

"How would you feel?"

"We've had this argument before, remember?"

Hermione made herself breathe deeply. "Draco, I haven't disobeyed you in a very long time, and you know that. I wouldn't, because I love you and trust you to make good choices for me. But I'm struggling right now, because on top of everything that's happened, you're denying me access to the one person who might help us find out what happened to my parents, and that hurts."

"Love, I don't deny you things to make you unhappy. I'm just scared that Bellatrix…she'll find a way to hurt you, if she can. You don't know her like I do. She's vicious."

Hermione looked wry. "I didn't notice, between the way she acted at the Ministry and her repeated attempts to kill us."

"It's not funny. She only wants to toy with you."

"I know that, but I also know that if there's anything I could have done for them…or could do…I'll never forgive myself."

"'Could have done?' Love, you don't think they're…"

"Dead." Hermione's voice was flat. "I don't know, Draco. I hope not. But if they got to Fletcher, he'd have given them up. And if he gave them up, what are the chances they'd let my parents alone?"

Draco swallowed hard. "And this whole time, you just sat there and dwelt on this?"

"And other things. What if…what if they're happy, Draco?"

If he wasn't feeling any guilt, he was feeling bad for his little girl's obvious unhappiness in all this. "What do you mean, precious?"

"I mean…it's been over a year. They've their own lives now. I wouldn't want to disrupt them."

It wasn't guilt. It wasn't. Really. "Darling, you said yourself that they love you. They'd want to know about their grandchild, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose. And if they are…dead…there's things I have to do." She explained a little about the customs she'd been taught. "And then a year of services for their souls."

Draco hated—_hated_—that his poor little girl had to devote time to this, when she ought to be relaxing, anticipating a shopping trip. Hermione nuzzled into his neck and sighed quietly.

"It really hurt my feelings when you thought I'd do something like that, Draco."

"I worry for you, love. I worry loads, and you do tend to be a bit headstrong at times."

"I'm not disputing that, but part of trust is the assumption a person wouldn't do something like that. There are things I've never asked you because I trust you."

"Like what?"

"The things you were telling the Dark Lord, for one. I'm sure he asked you."

"Well, yes, but---"

"And you must have told him, Draco. There's no way he let you live, knowing what you were up to, without some kind of return for him."

Draco felt his stomach swaying. "You knew all this?"

"It wasn't hard to figure out. Most of life is putting together the clues which are already there."

"Remind me never to play hide and seek with you."

"That's why you stopped asking me things, isn't it? Because then you'd have to tell him."

"Yes." Draco caught her face in his hands and looked right into her eyes.

"It means a lot to me that you obeyed me in this, truly it does. That was such a big, grown up thing for my little girl to have done, wasn't it?"

"It was hard. I thought about just going up there anyway." He nodded and rested his chin on the top of her head. "But you didn't, and that makes me proud."

Hermione frowned a little. "Sometimes, I don't know what would be worse—having them happy in their new lives, or having them miss me. I want them to, a little."

"Don't blame you. It took a lot of courage to do what you did."

"It didn't feel like it at the time. I didn't even tell them, I just did it."

Draco started rubbing her neck lightly with his hands. "Would they have gone along with it, otherwise?"

"No. Not at all."

"Then you did what you had to."

She sighed loudly and caught his hand in hers. "I just wish it didn't hurt so much."

Draco knew a thing or two about that, actually. He didn't want Hermione having anything to do with his aunt. Honestly, he didn't. His delight at her obedience was tempered with a sort of vague sense that this bore some thought; had Hermione a good case for seeing her? Would it just make things worse?

There was another problem, one that resulted largely from the fact that Hermione's hand had crept into his lap and was stroking him, right through his clothes.

"Hermione, I—God!"

"Hold still, Draco." Hermione took his hand and guided it between her legs. He found her clitoris and rubbed, and she rewarded him with a moan of pleasure. "Yes please yes there yes"

"We shouldn't---ah, love, faster—this is—oh my"

"I've missed this—ahhh!"

He came a second later and they just looked at one another, panting and giggling. Draco gently scooped her up to carry to the bathroom. In a few moments, they were splashing in a tub of fluffy bubbles.

"Well, that was helpful. I feel better all ready."

Draco snorted helplessly and called Leesy, who looked distinctly nervous, to set out the soap and shampoo for them to use. Hermione was pink cheeked, eyes sparkling. Draco hadn't seen his wife this relaxed in ages.

"I rather think there was something besides her maintenance that my little girl's been missing. Is that right?"

She nodded. "Terribly. I feel guilty, sometimes, that we can't anymore."

Draco shot Hermione a terrible look. "Hermione Jane. Shall I call Father and Mother to explain why your health is the most important factor, or shall I just send you right to the corner? Hmmm?"

"Corner, sir."

"After we dry off, you're going right to sit in the corner and think about what you've said. Hurry, little girl, we haven't all night." He dried her and helped her into a warm nightgown, and then, holding her wrist, escorted her to the chair, which he spelled into the corner for precisely that purpose.

"Hands in your lap, no fidgeting." Hermione was surprised at what a relief it was to sit still and think of absolutely nothing. She closed her eyes and let herself drift to that calm, white place in the center of her mind. Nothing could hurt her there. She wasn't alone.

Draco timed ten minutes on his pocket watch and went to retrieve Hermione. Tears were running quietly down her face. He picked her up and carried her to the bed at once, talking to her softly. "What's this, then? My little girl's teary. I hate it when that happens."

Hermione sniffled. "I'm always crying these days. It's silly, really."

"Hush. Tell me what's upset you."

"I just—I feel _better_ now. I miss—I miss that thing we do."

"I know, precious. What can we do to help? How about corner time for naughty behavior? I've tried being a bit more lenient, but she's so awfully little that perhaps she isn't quite ready yet. Does that sound right?"

Hermione nodded, blushing. "Everything just seems _off_."

"I think I know just the thing. Tibby' the elf appeared 'go and find me 'Tales for Little Wizards and Witches'."

"Draco, really. I don't need---"

"Do little girls know what they need?"

"No, sir."

He helped her under the covers and tucked them under her chin. He remembered being small, when Father would come in and read him to sleep. Taking the book from Tibby, Draco opened it to an opportune spot and began.

"Long ago and far away, there was a little witch called Morella, who was as beautiful as she was kind. One day, while gathering Windelwort in the forest, Morella chanced upon…"

Hermione smiled and closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered was Draco's soft voice, as she drifted off into the first decent sleep she'd had in what felt like forever.

Draco put the book away and climbed under. Hermione looked so calm. He didn't want her anywhere near his mad aunt. Ever. He didn't. Like he wasn't feeling guilt. He cupped his wife's cheek. Everything would be fine.

Wouldn't it? He wondered if she were right. Might it be her last chance? Could he live with her disappointment if it was? He had no especial feeling for his inlaws, in so far as the muggles could claim that title over the Goyles, but…if they were dead, it was up to him to see they got their due.

He wouldn't think about Kent. Not now. He made up his mind, and when Hermione woke at nine, the first thing she saw was her husband's face. "After breakfast, we'll be going to see her. Both of us, understand? Sharing and all that."

Hermione put her arms around his neck and hugged her husband. The smell of her almost overcame the scent that lingered in his mouth and nose, a sickly reek of cologne, overlaid by blood.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:**

**Madea's making me do this, despite the fact that I'm really very tired. Isn't she mean? And she's making me apologise for her, as well, because last chapter she forgot to mention that some fellow called Villon was the one who came up with the bit about the snows of the past.**

** According to Madea, he 'wouldn't have minded I forgot to mention him, but he would've wanted to know why I didn't write this drunk and singing a bawdy song.' When I said 'You didn't?' she got very stroppy with me. At least Father will tick her off for stealing from other people again. Perhaps there is justice in the world.**

**Languishing desperately,**

**Draco**

Antigone Goyle watched her brother in law out of the corner of one eye to make sure he was engrossed in his kippers. Certain the fish had Greg's attention, she kicked off a slipper and gave her husband a poke in the shin with her toe.

Galten snorted on his coffee and kicked off his loafer to retaliate when Nipsy the elf popped in, holding a scrap of paper importantly in his withered hand. He gave it to Galten, bowed, and left. Antigone felt her stomach clinch and made herself keep sipping her tea. Galten read it once and tucked the scrap into his trouser pockets.

"Wonder how Hermione is."

Greg finished his kipper and set down his fork. "Vince told me she's tolerable. Needs to eat more, though. Will you make her some fairy cakes, Tiggy?"

A long look passed between Galten and his wife. "That's an idea, Greg. I'll make a basket and we'll take it over."

Greg beamed. "Thanks, Tiggy!" He went back to his kippers, and though Galten could've poked his wife under the table, neither of them was in the mood anymore.

Flanked by Narcissa and Andromeda, Hermione stood at the side of Bellatrix's bed. The woman herself had been awake when the little party entered. "Come for a visit, have we? Going to let Auntie see the wife and the little one?"

Hermione stared at the woman blankly for a moment, as though she didn't know whom Bellatrix was. Then she stepped closer and said, very softly "Mundungus Fletcher."

Bellatrix grinned. "I expect you should like to know what became of him."

"Do you mean to tell us?"

"Perhaps. One can only tease so long. It ought to be axiomatic with Snape, there. I taught him that myself."

Hermione said, still in that soft, even voice "Your usefulness is very much dependant on how you choose to handle this, Bellatrix. We figured out the spell you used with very little help from you, and we can figure this out as well. But a word from me could save you from Azkaban."

Bellatrix listened thoughtfully. "Clever. Was it her brains you were fucking that night, Draco, when Greyback smelt her on you?"

"Shut up."

Andromeda sat down on the bed beside her sister. "Trixie, this baby has Black blood, just like Teddy. It's our baby too, Mother and Daddy's, and Grandmother and Grandfather, and Grandmama and Grandpapa's. Would you deny them an ancestor to clean their tombs and give them offerings?"

"Draco can father more with another woman."

The portraits, woken by the screaming, decided to chime in. "Lucius, remove me at once from this creature's presence." Io wished she had hands so she could slap the woman. "Well done, girl, you've got her at a disadvantage. I forbid Narcissa to punish you for it."

Tertullius nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed. You aren't a very nice woman, Trixie.' He turned to Hermione and smiled comforting. "There there, my owl, we all love your baby. Even Io thinks it's wonderful."

Io sniffed. "Well, we can't complain the girl lacks spirit. Maybe she'll work out, with guidance. And why are all of you standing that way? Call those fool elves for chairs, you aren't labourers. Especially the owl girl, sit down."

"The gentlemen will be leaving, Io. The ladies need a private word."

"Cissy, are you sure?"

"Completely." Her voice was steel, and faced by the phalanx of female rage, the men acquiesced in short order, staying close, waiting for the screams to start.

"Bellatrix, I've always loved you. Always. Even when you went to prison, even when you did that awful, awful thing to those poor aurors, I loved you. But this is too far. Don't make me choose between my sister and the world, because you will not win."

"You'd ask me to choose between you and my principles. Is that better?"

"A child's life is not at stake, Bellatrix. Hermione's baby is."

Bellatrix huffed. "An unnatural child! An abomination! Are you both blind to what you've become?"

"If they're blind, what are you?"

Bellatrix studied the girl a moment. "Io is right, you are brave." She suddenly looked speculative, almost friendly. "How old are you, girl?"

"Nineteen."

"I'm forty seven. I could have been your mother, you know that?" She reached out and Hermione tensed, freezing when Bellatrix's fingers glided slowly down the length of her hair. She didn't flinch.

"A shame you're a freak, mudblood. Perhaps in another world, you'd have called me 'Mother'." Bellatrix smiled with terrible tenderness and moved as though to cup Hermione's stomach. Andromeda bent forward and snatched Bellatrix's hand away. "Don't, Trixie. "

Bellatrix laughed and slapped back at Andromeda's hand. "Haven't you heard, Meddie? This baby is part of us all. That makes it mine as well."

Lucius was not disappointed. In short order, the sounds of conflict could be heard. Beside him, Draco's eyes widened. "Are they killing one another?"

"Not at all."

"Should we go down there?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything." They rose and made their way back down the corridor, trailed by Snape. The door opened with a flick of Lucius' wand and they found the three former Black sisters, with a shell shocked looking Hermione, arguing about some point one of them had just made.

Narcissa smiled at her husband brightly. "Something the matter, Lucius?"

"I just wanted to see what all the commotion was."

"Everything's fine. Meddie and Trixie were just arguing."

"We were not, we were having a discussion. Why don't you take the mudblood and run along, Cissy? You look peaked."

Andromeda tilted her head and studied Narcissa. "Trixie is quite right. You and Hermione could both do with a rest, Cissy, darling."

"I feel fine, truly. Pray, let's go on." Narcissa sat beside Hermione and took her hand almost absently, rolling it to check her fingers, which were pink and smooth and tiny. Also unmarked, to Narcissa's pleasure."

"Narcissa Euphemia, go this second. You're not looking well."

"If Cissy wants to stay, Trixie, then she can stay. She's an adult."

"Shut it, blood traitor, I'm the oldest and I know best."

"Really, both of you, I'm ashamed to see you behaving this way. Daddy must be be appalled."

"Daddy appalled? I hardly think so, given the activities the two of you have been up to lately, with the mudblood and all."

"Bellatrix Druella Black, if Daddy were here right now, you wouldn't sit for a month with the way you've comported yourself."

"Why yes, the fact you've let your son sire an abomination with this freak is doubtlessly behavior befitting of a pureblood lady."

"More fitting than all the awful things you've ever done."

Lucius bit the inside of his cheek and thanked the ancestors that he was an only child. He couldn't help it; a tiny chuckle escaped as three of the most pureblooded ladies in Britain, the youngest being forty years old, argued like teenagers.

"Lucius? Are you quite all right?"

"He's laughing at us. See, I've always told you he's a pillock."

"My husband is not a pillock."

"Is."

"I shan't dignify that with an answer."

"Because you know I'm correct."

"You aren't either, now stop it."

"Or what?"

Lucius bowed slightly and backed from the room, closing the door. Draco raised an eyebrow. "Father?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"Are all women mad?"

Lucius considered carefully. "On balance, Draco, yes, yes they are."

Narcissa excused herself and went to her rooms. Closing the door behind herself, she kicked off her shoes and put on soft slippers instead, and went to her chaise longue to lie down. "Tibby' she called, and the elf appeared. 'Rub my head."

Tibby obeyed. "Madam is being sad. Tibby should be getting Madam oil of violets?"

"Not right now. I just want to rest." Narcissa's eyes opened as the door creaked on its hinges and a cloud of frizzy hair poked through, followed by the rest of Hermione. "Mother? Are you all right?"

"Fine, darling, fine. Come in, come in." Hermione came in, holding her stomach gently. "She's kicking quite a lot today." Hermione looked a little bloated, to Narcissa, and her robe was straining slightly at the front. But she was smiling, and her step was sure.

"Means she's healthy. Come and put your head in my lap, Hermione." Hermione obeyed and Narcissa carded her fingers through her hair. "When Draco was small, he hated naps. Sometimes the only way to get him to sleep was to do this and then levitate him into bed."

Hermione giggled. "I can imagine he was quite a stubborn toddler."

"Stubborn! You've no idea.' Narcissa motions for the elf to bring them some rose hips steeped in white violet oil. "I was very sorry, love, that this morning did not go as planned."

"But it did. Better, actually, than I'd dared hope."

Narcissa wondered whether Hermione was ill. "Darling, all Bellatrix did was taunt you."

"But we've established that I'm of interest to her. And that she thinks she knows something."

Narcissa was surprised enough to be quiet for almost a minute. "That's…very canny of you. Well done."

"Thank you, Mother."

"What led you to this line of reason? Speak freely, darling."

"It seems to me she likes to amuse herself with other people. If I keep coming back, she can sharpen her claws on me. But she knows Father and yourself won't wait forever, so she'll have to let something slip."

"I daresay. How in the world did you persuade Draco, though? I thought we'd have to take his demitasse cup away, he was so tense at supper."

"We talked about what we could learn versus the damage she could do."

Narcissa made a mental note to reward both children and stroked the girl's neck lightly. "Will you mind very much if we don't shop today?"

"Not at all." Hermione sat labouriously and steadied herself a second. Her back hurt. Her feet ached, and her ankles were feeling puffy. But Mother had enough to deal with, and Hermione wouldn't add to it. She resolved to handle it herself and call for something to take the edge off as quietly as possible.

The door opened and Andromeda came in, looking pale and sad and older. Hermione made as though to rise and Andromeda shook her head. "No, love, stay sitting down." She came and took Narcissa's hands in her own. "Cissy, are you all right?"

"Fine, Meddie. You're looking poorly, though. I'll call for something to strengthen you at once."

"No, it's not bodily. Trixie just drains me sometimes, is all."

"I can't blame you." Narcissa gently dropped her head to her sister's shoulder a second. "Bellatrix can be hateful, can't she?"

"Always could. You just never got any of it because of your age." Andromeda held her sister's hand tighter. "She was mocking, mocking me about Dora. I couldn't believe she would hurt me that way."

Hermione could, but she'd never wound Andromeda by saying it. She put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Would it bother anyone if we talked about her? Dora?"

"Of course not, Meddie. Tell us whatever you'd like."

"Have I ever told you about the time she built a house for our garden gnomes? They'd eaten all Ted's tomatoes, and Dora thought if they had a place to live, they'd stop being such pests. So she found some smooth stones and she…" Andromeda stopped. Gulping, she buried her head in her sleeves. "That was Dora. Always helping. Even those who didn't deserve it."

Hermione crept into the nursery, surprised to find Teddy awake, cooing gently. Tibby appeared to change his nappy, and after he was clean Hermione took him in her arms. "Shall we go and find Uncle, Teddy?"

Teddy crowed. He quite liked Uncle, who had a variety of fascinating things for Teddy to play with, and could give a very exciting hippogriff ride when the mood took him. Riding on Girl Cousin's shoulder, they made their way down to the study and then out the French doors and into the garden.

Lucius was bent over one of his prize peacocks, feeding it a bit of bread crust. Hermione cleared her throat and he straightened at once. "Hello, love. Loves, I should say. How are you?"

"Well, Father. Teddy and I thought to come and find you."

"And I'm very glad you did. It's lonely out here, with just these birds for company." Teddy wondered whether the waddling thing would hold still long enough for him to taste it. He thought not. He nestled against Girl Cousin and resolved to catch her necklace instead.

"Where are Mother and Andromeda?"

"Andromeda's very upset. She had a run in with…"

"Ah. Anything in particular?"

"Tonks."

Lucius' jaw tightened. "Despicable. Sometimes I'm thankful Cygnus isn't alive to see this. It would have killed him twenty times over."

"That was one of the things the three of them were arguing about. Mother said she'd got worse after…the thing with the Longbottoms."

"Mother was very much the pet of her family. Bellatrix was always very good at hiding the ugly part of herself from those she didn't wish to see it."

"Mother wouldn't have known."

"Nor the others. For as long as I've known Trixie, she's been like this, at least a little. I can't imagine those inclinations simply appear over night. On the other hand, Azkaban does that to one. The dross tends to be burnt away."

Hermione hugged the baby tighter. "And that's what she really was?"

"I realised I cared more about the famil than about the Dark Lord, and she…perhaps cruelty sustained her."

Hermione held the baby out and stood, hands braced at the small of her back. Her vertebrae crackled in succession and she smiled with relief and sat again. "I almost prefer not to know, in some ways."

Lucius nodded. "It's wiser, sometimes. We can go only so far and stay sane." He seemed to remember something. "I got an owl from Galten an hour or so ago. They'd like to come over after supper. Are Mother and Andromeda up to it?"

"I don't know. Should I ask them?"

He shook his head. "I'll ask. Are you, for that matter?"

Hermione considered the pain in her back and the aching of her other body parts and smiled. "I'll be quite all right."

She rose and they made for the house. Lucius gave her his arm and she took it, leaning on him, cursing her legs for almost buckling a few times. Lucius sent her a knowing look. "Darling, one would almost think you weren't being truthful when you said you feel well."

Hermione begged her knees to stiffen. "With everything going on, this would be a bad time to be unwell, Father. If Mother isn't well, and Andromeda, and myself, there wouldn't be anyone to help entertain the Goyles."

Lucius squeezed his daughter in law's shoulder. "That was an excellent answer. All the same, I'm sending you for a rest. Draco will shortly join you, I'm sure."

Draco, was, in fact, sitting with Professor Snape. There was an untouched pot of tea between them, as Draco tried to screw up his courage. "Godfather?"

"Draco?"

"I appreciated that you were there this morning."

Snape would never admit that he felt touched by that. "I'd a duty. I did it."

"What did Bellatrix mean? About teasing being axiomatic."

Snape smiled slightly. It had been, to say the least, a memorable night. "I have some errands to take care of, Draco. I should be back at Spinner's End by nightfall, if I'm needed.' He rose and made for the fireplace. 'Oh, and Draco?"

"Yes, Godfather?"

"Your aunt has a scar on her knee from where she fell off a bye-cycle."

"A what?"

And with that, Snape stepped through the Floo and was gone.

When Draco went to check on Hermione, he found her lying in bed, relaxing, the pain relief coursing through her veins. He bent to kiss her and she put her arms around his neck.

"Everything all right, Draco?"

"I'm not sure anything will ever be all right again."

"What?"

"Snape's sense of humour." And more than that, he would not say.

Antigone Goyle put down the rag she'd been using to wipe the counters, wiped her forehead and called for Nipsy to pack up the hampers. The idea of going to the Malfoys filled Antigone with exhaustion. Much as she liked them, much as she owed Lucius Malfoy her happiness, she hated to socialise on nights like these.

Well, needs must is needs must. She walked up the winding stairs, mindful of the loose stones and the way her legs were throbbing. The muscles in her legs groaned protests but she ignored them and went into the chamber she and Galten shared.

Galten was sitting on the bed, the only furniture in the room. "Done, pet?"

"Yes. Five fruit tarts, two sorts of biscuits, some currant pudding, bread, ham and devilled eggs, along with some of that hippocras I made last week. Will that be enough?"

He smiled, showing the perfect, even Goyle teeth. "'Course, Tigs. You work like a house elf, you know that?"

Tiggy kissed her husband's cheek. "I like it. Something to do."

"Someday it'll be better, I promise." Galten gave his wife's hand a squeeze as she stood and briskly doffed her robes. "Hide your eyes?"

Galten did, not wishing to embarrass his wife by seeing her in the nude. Tiggy stepped behind the tatty screen in her corner of the room, gave herself a quick scrub with a flannel, and redressed in clean linens.

The decrepit Nipsy appeared to dress her in her robes and dress her hair. "Madam will be wanting the food ready at the usual time?" The elf's voice was papery and soft, but he knew to whisper in Madam's ear.

"Yes. And the bag of things, last time you'd forgot."

"We is being sorry, Madam."

"'S'fine." The elf finished the rather shaky bun and Antigone rose rapidly. "Ready, Galten?"

"Have Nipsy call Greg and we'll go." And so they did, and it was a fine night. Hermione looked better than she had in a long time; hope had caused the roses in her cheeks to bloom again. Draco, too, looked almost like himself again. Seeing his wife this way had eased his mind, and if he was afraid he'd shoved it away for the nonce.

After supper, Hermione found herself cornered and scolded again, this time by both of the elder Goyles once they'd discovered that she'd risked a trip to see Bellatrix. "That woman is dangerous."

"Yes, I know, but she might know something."

"And she might mean you harm. Can't believe any of you thought that a good idea."

"Nothing terrible happened, Galten, really."

"This time. We promised to watch you in your parents' stead, pet, and so we have to keep an eye on you." Antigone was nodding firmly. "And you eat your food, too. I'll know if you don't."

After making sure her husband and their charge were talking safely, Antigone made her way into the tower. Bellatrix was resting on the bed, and it was, unusually, a genuine surprise when Antigone stalked in.

"You'd do well to leave Hermione be."

Bellatrix laughed despite her predicament. "You're Polybus Mallow's girl, aren't you? I was one of the ones who dispatched him, you know."

"Go on and give me another reason to hurt you." She reached out and got a firm hold of Bellatrix's nightgown front.

"He died cursing your ancestors, how was that?" Antigone dropped her voice. "The past is dead and so is my Da, but if you do anything to her, I'll kill you. Slow."

"You're as mad as your mother."

"Yes, but I'm free and you're here. There's mad and then there's bloody stupid like you." With that, the woman went downstairs and fixed Hermione with a jaundiced eye. "You don't go up there alone."

"I won't, Antigone."

" Never ever. Promise?"

"Yes." Antigone gave Hermione one of her awkward pats and went to go with her husband and brother in law, who'd had a similar reaction when he discovered what Draco had let Hermione do.

"She's bad, mate. Really bad. Bellatrix."

"I'm aware, Greg, but if Hermione's parents are to be found, she's the best way."

"I still don't like it." Goyle frowned for a moment.

Draco suddenly found himself too tired to argue. This whole thing with Bellatrix…and the baby…and Hermione's health…and Mother's unhappiness…and Aunt Andromeda…

Greg put a hand to his friend's shoulder. "You well, Draco?"

"I'm fine, Greg. I've come to the conclusion that my Grandpapa was some sort of hero, incidentally."

"Why?"

"If they're this bad as adults, what must they have been like as girls?" Draco shuddered slightly and Greg laughed helplessly.

"Vince said. He says your Grandpapa is right proud of how well your Mam and Aunt are baring up through this. It makes him sad that Andromeda cries so much at night. Why don't you give her some flowers? She might like that."

Draco tried to think of something to say. "Greg, does Vince…tell you these things?"

"'Course he does. He keeps telling me to tell you…something. Dunno, mate. It'll come to me."

"It rather worries me that Vince keeps talking to you, you know. This isn't usual."

"Neither is anything that's happened lately. Besides which, Vince is our friend. Dead or not, that hasn't changed."

Greg looked so fierce that Draco gave in. "Quite. Wine?"

And so when Tiggy found them, they were finishing. Greg made his goodbyes and Floo'd home with his family. They went to bed, at least until 1.45, when Tiggy and Galten rose in silence, dressed and donned heavy cloaks, and walked down the ancient, winding stone steps and onto the moor.

The moon was a hangnail. Still silent, they watched the approach of the cloaked figures with trepidation, wands drawn. The taller threw back the hood and it was Galvin. Galten stepped forward and embraced his father with relief.

"How are you, lad?"

"Fine, Da. Greg's fine too."

"How are you for money?"

"Getting along. You?"

Galvin wasn't about to tell them what his life was like now. The smaller cloaked figure came forward. "Aunt Alecto?"

Alecto wrapped both arms around her niece and smiled a little. "You look tired, Tiggy. Not worrying too much?"

"Not at all." She snapped her fingers and Nipsy staggered forth with the extra hampers in one hand and a small bag in another. "Here's some clothes." She didn't mention the small velvet bag she'd tucked in the nightdress she'd sent Alecto, with some of her dwindling supply of jewellery to sell.

"How's our Pansy?"

Antigone made a face. "Too good for the likes of us, anyway. Xanthippe cut me dead on the street yesterday."

"I'm sorry, darling heart. Ever since Hecuba…"

Galten stepped in. "I wonder if either of you know anything about Mundugus Fletcher?"

Galten shot his son a look, jerking his chin at Antigone to show he didn't wish to upset her. "Wouldn't have wanted to be that bloke, to be sure."

"He's dead, then?"

"I should hope so. For his sake, if nothing else.' He gave his son another look. 'Enough of that, lad. Take care of Greg and Tiggy."

"I will, Da." They all embraced and the Death Eaters left, continuing the endless journey to save their lives. Antigone and Greg walked back in silence, until they were safely in their bed, huddled under the furs. The stone walls did little to keep the rapidly cooling wind out, and they snuggled close.

"Antigone?"

"Hmmm?"

"I think we did well tonight. With Hermione."

She nodded against his shoulder. "She's a good girl."

"She's got a damned fine woman to help her, you know."

Antigone kissed his cheek and, very slowly, poked his shin with her toe.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:**

**Good muggles, I am so sorry to interrupt your peace, but I asked Madam and she said a poor wretch like myself could have a turn at writing. **

**Countess Black was, as always, terribly kind, and didn't even mind when I accidently gnawed her walls a bit. Her pet rats were very welcoming as well, and we had a nice kip in their cage.**

** Young Malfoy told me I had to say something funny, but a piteous creature like myself could hardly be expected to find humour in life, could I? The author has indicated that any mistakes in the narrative as regards the 'care system' are hers, and that she is, after all, an American. She most humbly apologises for any error on her part.**

** Please, good mesdames and sirs, a small reply? You'd not deny a most miserable pariah the comfort of a few paltry lines?**

**Peter Pettigrew**

Hermione willed her hands not to shake as she poured the tea. Breathing deeply, she set the pot down and handed the cup to the grinning woman sitting across from her. "Sugar, Bellatrix?"

"Two lumps. And do call me Aunt Trixie."

Draco started. "She'll do no such thing."

Bellatrix laughed. "My, someone gets touchy, doesn't he? Just like his Daddy." Draco's hands knotted into fists and Hermione gave his knee a pat. "Do you remember Galten Goyle, Bellatrix?"

"Was he the one that shook me, Draco, or the one that grabbed me about the neck?"

"He works in the office of British Wizarding Boundries. He told me they've found something.' Hermione swallowed hard. 'In the Orkneys. The island of Floy."

"Hmmm, doesn't ring a bell. Lots of grass?"

"Yes. They've found human remains."

"What makes them sure it's Fletcher? Might be some filthy muggle. They're forever killing one another."

"They aren't, but the clothes were of wizarding manufactor, and the height is consistent." Hermione's heart was pounding painfully in her chest. Bellatrix sipped her tea. "I suppose it could be him. I might remember better with a little diversion."

Draco felt wary. "What sort of little diversion?"

Bellatrix sent him a truly terrible smile. "Is it too much to ask my darling niece to come and visit me every so often? It gets so bloody dull here with just the owls for company."

Hermione's voice never wavered. "Prove you know something and we'll consider it."

"The clothes you found were black trousers and a purple silk shirt, with studs rather than buttons. If you ask the Ministry, Jonas Avery was wearing them when he died."

Hermione nodded her thanks. "Anything else?"

"Quid pro quo, mudblood. How did you and my nephew meet? Romantically, I mean."

"In the library at Hogwarts."

"How old were you?"

"Quid pro quo, Bellatrix. How did you find him?"

"Who says we did?"

Hermione stood and called for an elf to come and take the tray. "Good day, Bellatrix."

"Oh, but things were just getting interesting, mudblood. I haven't told you about all the things he told us, your secret keeper. He was quite a talker, there at the end."

Hermione's face went white but she said nothing. Draco gave her his arm and they walked to their rooms in silenced, leant into each other's warmth. Draco broke the silence when they were safely behind closed doors.

"Love?"

"She's frustrating, isn't she?"

"Understatement suits you."

"It must have been awful, having her here."

"It was." Hermione gave his hand a squeeze and forced a smile. "But at least we learnt a little something." Draco wanted to go up there and force answers from his mad aunt. Instead, he smiled back and said as lightly as possible "Now let's talk about my little girl's feelings. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"No?"

"Hermione Jane, that was not an option. Are you all right with this?"

"No, but if we want answers we have to play her way. At least until we've found a way around her."

Draco smiled. "Mother is right, you are becoming more Slytherin. Well done."

Hermione squirmed. "Thank you. Anyway, do you think she really knows anything?"

Draco didn't want to tell her. He really, truly, honestly wished someone else could do it. But he loved his little girl too well for her to hear this from anyone but him (unless Mother or Father had been there. That was different). "Yes, love, I do. Did Galten tell you about the clothes?"

"Only they were wizarding made. If I saw those studs, I'd recognise them."

"Oh?"

"Dung stole them from Bill. He went through the laundry and made off with a number of things, but the main one was Bill's shirt studs. They were polished dragon's bone, a gift from Charlie."

Draco nodded. He would have Galten check, but the ratcheting in his chest told him what he thought the answer would be. Hermione was staring into the distance in her head and Draco sat on the arm of her chair and rubbed her shoulder.

"Would it be all right if we didn't talk about this until later?"

"What's 'later', my girl?"

"Before bed. I want some time to process all this."

Draco considered and finally nodded. "I'll hold you to that."

She stood and he took her place in the chair. Hermione eased herself down into his lap and snuggled back. "I know." She sounded calmly and strangely content. "Hermione?"

"It's a relief to think the answer is out there, Draco. Wouldn't you find it that way?"

"No." Draco was an expert avoider. He couldn't grasp Hermione's drive to know things which would only cause her pain. If she never asked again, if she concentrated on their life and their baby and her new family, at some level her parents would always be alive, and in Australia, and happy. She'd never have to come to terms with their likely fate, nor picture the bloody last moments of their lives.

"I think you would. You're braver than you credit yourself with."

"I'm not either. You're my courage, like I'm the complete—yet handsome and loveable—bastard you refuse to admit lurks inside you." Hermione giggled softly and burrowed against him. "I don't think you are. I think you're brilliant."

"Who doesn't?" He laughed as Granger mock glared and poked his ribs, hard. "Birk."

"Now now, name calling isn't nice. Might have to corner you for that."

"Don't you dare!" She tickled his ribs a bit more and Draco yelped, wishing he could tickle her back. He might have done, except the door flew open and Lucius strode in, looking distinctly displeased. "No rough play, children, Hermione's not well. Now, what did Bellatrix do?"

They gave him a quick summation. Lucius' pale brows met his hairline. "I rather thought Leesy was simply being excitable again." Which was why he'd been in no hurry intially; there was a sort of house elf metric one followed, and, adjusting for inflation, he'd estimated, given the wailing and head pounding going on, that one of the children had a hang nail, or perhaps had sneezed. But the elf hadn't shut up, and so finally he'd asked for details and come up to get the story straight from the source.

"I shall go and speak to her. In the meantime, Hermione, I should like to start on the library tomorrow after you and Mother have done shopping. Does that suit you?"

Hermione's face lit up. "Oh, yes!"

Both men chuckled. "Then it's settled. Will you be up to supper, my dear?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I'll see you both there, then. Do try to forget about Bellatrix for the time being, won't you? And Hermione? Try his elbows." As he left, Draco yowled, suggesting the girl had taken his advice.

Lucius walked the corridors of Malfoy manor softly. He didn't bother to knock this time; he just came in and sat down.

"Forgot our manners, Malfoy?"

"I could ask you the same. I've always known you as a repulsive hell kite, Trixie, but taunting a pregnant woman is a bit much even for you."

"Come running to you, did she?"

"Not at all. The elves hear everything, you know. What exactly did you say?""

"She asked me about that fool Fletcher and I gave her what she wanted, that's all."

"You led her on like a two sickle whore, is what you did."

"Aren't we the pious one, Malfoy? I remember the days when you liked to say the only good mudblood is a dead mudblood."

Lucius kept his face straight. "And I remember the days that your husband feigned interest in your bed. Everything changes, doesn't it?"

Bellatrix laughed. "What do I care what Rodolphus does?"

"You used to. Came crying to Cissy when you discovered his penchant for-"

She laughed harder. "Just as you did when you saw the boy after he failed to kill Dumbledore, hmmm? Hugged the little coward and made sure he didn't see Daddy weeping, didn't you?"

He leant over and calmly grasped her chin. "If—you—ever—mention—my—son—like that—again—I –will—take –your –tongue."

"I'd like to see you try." Lucius released her . "I wonder what Greyback would say if he knew you were here. I could always stake you out for him."

The lightning quick change in Trixie's eyes told him everything. He smirked and stepped a little closer, taking advantage of the vast difference in their heights. "Well, Trixie, what would he do?"

"Fuck you, Lucius."

"Thank you, but I'd rather not eat after an animal." He turned on his heel and left her there to think, snuffing the candles on the way out.

Narcissa found her husband in the study, drinking brandy and looking pensive. "Lucius? Love?"

"Hello, Cissy. Would it be very unfilial of me to silence the portraits and move all of us to Italy?"

"Very. What's happened?"

"Io and Tertullius heard what went on between Bellatrix and the children this afternoon and have incited some sort of insurrection among the others. Mother and Father are livid and want to be moved at once, and Io is demanding to go too. And Tertullius…well, you know how he is."

She made sympathetic noises and stroked Lucius' face. "Poor darling. What sort of insurrection?"

"Io's apparently told all of them that we forced Hermione to go and see Trixie, and now Mother's convinced we're not taking adequate care of the girl, and if Mother goes Father goes, and so on."

"What do you want to do?"

"We'll have to move them. We shan't get a second's peace until we do."

Narcissa was preparing to point out that the portraits had no bodies and so could be avoided when an elf popped into the room. "Rinky is being sorry, but Madam SImpronia is asking when Master is moving she and the old Master."

"You see? This has been every hour, on the hour."

"And Io and Tertullius are insisting to move as well?"

"Of course they are. To the children's rooms, no less. Mother and Io have decided Hermione can't live another instant without their guidance."

"You're teasing."

"Would I ever?"

Narcissa shook her head. "The poor children. Still, wouldn't want to be unfilial, and I suppose this will give us built in chaperons."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "That's certainly true. And anyway, do you remember that time Draco poured that ink all over my desk?"

Narcissa gave an unladylike snort and tried to disguise it with a cough. "I do."

"Well, it got on the rug, and I always rather liked that rug. This is adequate vengeance, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course." They laughed together, and Narcissa pressed her cheek to her husband's in a rush of love. "Feels like everything's happened all at once, doesn't it?"

"Are you well, Cissy?"

Narcissa nodded. "I am. But tired, Lucius. Tired."

He slid his arms around his wife. "There, love, it will all be all right."

"Of course it will, but sometimes it all seems too much. Andromeda…Bellatrix…Draco and Hermione…the baby…aren't you exhausted?"

"I am. And you've borne it all brilliantly."

Narcissa stroked her fingers through her husband's hair gently. "We, love. We've borne it brilliantly."

Lucius held her tighter. She smelled so good, and her body felt wonderful against his. "Shall we have a rest before supper?" She kissed him and he tasted of brandy and peppermint sweets and then he'd stood and was leading her to the Floo.

"I'd love to." And so they did.

Supper that evening was strangely cheerful, almost giddy. A good meal, in the presence of loved ones, can do that. Even the news about the portraits wasn't enough to damage the mood, though privately Draco wondered whether he ought to accidently put a strong silencing spell on Io, at the least.

By the time they were ready to retire, Draco and Hermione climbed into bed and snuggled down. "All right, precious, time to talk about feelings."

"Would you start?"

Draco held Hermione against him. "How did Bellatrix make you feel?"

"I pitied her. It must be awful, to be someone like that." Draco blinked. He wondered sometimes what it must be like, to feel so much and so easily. Of all his reactions to Trixie, pity had never been among them.

"You are the sweetest little girl in the world, you know that? No one else feels remotely sorry for her."

"Something must have happened to her, to make her like she is."

"Mother doesn't think so."

Hermione nodded. "And I suppose I was a bit angry at the way she was toying with us. I just can't imagine wanting to hurt someone on purpose. Her mind must be a cold, horrible place."

"It is. I've been."

Hermione cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry that happened, sweet. Do you need to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about. She taught me legilimency and I saw some things I'd rather not remember."

Hermione murmured and nuzzled closer. "Shhh, Draco." Draco huffed. He was supposed to comforting her and not the other way around. She was only a little girl, after all. "This isn't about me. Now, what else?"

"I was worried she would upset you."

Draco huffed again. "My little girl's so good I think she forgets sometimes to worry about herself. What did _you_ feel, precious?"

"That was all. What else is there? Until we have more information…"

He nodded. "If you're sure that's all, love.' He shot her a look to let her know that it had best be. 'Because we know the consequences for hiding things, don't we, dearest?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you tell me about them?"

"A smacking, sir."

"Is that all? I seem to remember some details. What sort of smacking?"

"On the bare, sir. With the brush."

"Very good. Just because I can't smack you this second doesn't mean I won't remember once you're well. A certain little girl's going to get bared and walloped across my lap if she's not being truthful, isn't she? She'll have a hot, sore backside, because I don't tolerate deceit, do I?"

Hermione was blushing and squirming wonderfully. "I'm being honest with you."

"Of course you are, love, but it never hurts to refresh your memory. Little girls forget if they aren't reminded. And then some time in the corner with drawers around her knees, hmmm? That always helps little girls remember to tell the truth, doesn't it?"

Hermione was wriggling harder than ever. "Only you could ever do this to me."

"I should hope so. I'd have to kill whomever else even tried."

He spelled the lights down. "Shall we have a story?"

Hermione sighed, closed her eyes and let her husband's voice lull her to sleep.

She and Narcissa duly shopped the next day. Little of note took place, except for the rather vexing assumption on the part of wizardingkind at large that Hermione's body was public property. She'd been patted, fondled, and given advice by no less than nine old ladies, two older gentlemen, three young matrons, and a very small boy.

Well, the boy hadn't so much given her advice as run up to her and said "You've a fat belly. Is there a baby in it?"

"Yes, there is. Would you like to feel her kick?" The little fellow nodded and proffered a grimy little hand. Hermione bent a bit and the baby obligingly kicked, prompting the boy's eyes to widen. "What's her name?"

"We've not decided."

"You should name her 'Newt'. That's my cat's name." Having said his piece, the boy ambled off, thumb in his mouth. Narcissa laughed softly. "What a clever little fellow."

"I almost don't want to tell Draco about this. He might think it a good idea."

They laughed again as an elderly woman in an enormous hat shuffled over. "Don't open your mouth like that, dear, it might cause flim-dings to colonise your throat. The baby'll be born with wonky toes if that happens." Hermione forced herself to thank the lady politely and submitted to the obligatory patting on the belly.

Returning to the manor, they found Draco sitting on the balcony, reading a novel. He grinned when he saw his wife, dressed in clothes which actually fit and shoes which wouldn't pinch her swollen feet.

"Did you have a good time, darling?"

"Wonderful, though before I tell you what happened, you have to promise not to ask to name the baby after anything that might go into a potion." Draco furrowed his brow but nodded, then burst out laughing as she told him about the little boy.

"That's adorable." He stroked Hermione's fringe from her eyes. "Didn't you think so?"

"I did, but I could've done without the constant invasion of my personal space by strangers."

"They're just sharing your joy, love. And anyway, everyone gets excited about babies." He raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you ever wondered why wizarding children are so affectionate and fearless?"

"I was surprised that everyone seems so enthused about Teddy. Even Greg seems to like him."

" Aren't muggles that way?"

"Some are."

"But not all? I can't even imagine. Muggle children must be afraid all the time."

"What makes you say that?"

"They can't rely on the adults around them to want to be around them." He shook his head and wondered how Hermione must have felt as a small child, with brutally inattentive parents and adults around her who weren't welcoming and gentle.

"If your parents worked, Hermione, who cared for you during the day?" Draco's stomach lurched. Had they left her by herself? Poor darling, crying all alone in that house with only books for company?

"I went to school." Hermione smiled and poked her husband's belly. "Silly, what did you think?"

"I assumed whomever had cared for you taught you as well. Why didn't they hire a nanny to look after you?"

"Because Mum and Dad arranged their hours so one of them could stay with me until I was school aged, and then I went to care after school."

Draco was shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, love. That must've been awful."

"It was all right. The other children could be unkind, but…it all worked out, wouldn't you say?"

No, it most certainly hadn't. He took her hand and lightly stroked the back. "Is that why you don't like to cry?"

"Yes. Let's go inside, it's looking like it might rain."

"We'll go in if you like, but this conversation isn't over, little girl." They moved into the closest salon and sat in the calm, silk draped room.

Hermione swallowed hard.. "How is it we always end like this?"

Draco snorted. "Complete bastard, remember? I'm going to do what's best, not what's most convenient. Now, out with it."

"There's nothing to tell, really. I went to care after school every day. Sort of like a nanny, but I shared the lady-Miss Jones-with other children. I hated it, because the other children were so cruel. I used to cry and beg my parents not to send me back, but they had no choice. And then one day, Miss Jones made me sit on the naughty step and told me how selfish my behavior was, because it made Mum and Dad feel terrible. And I decided she was right, and then I suppose it got to be a habit."

Draco struggled to find words for the next thing. "Darling…didn't you ever consider…that your first impulse was right?"

"No, Draco. They had to work and I had to be cared for, and anyway, they spent time with me on weekends and at night. There was no choice, that's all." She looked distant and sad, and Draco wanted to strangle the damned muggles almost as much as he wanted to find them to make Hermione happy.

"I guess that's why I spend so much time considering whether we ought to have them found. I feel like it's the naughty step all over again. Isn't that silly?" Hermione felt her eyes prickling slightly and dashed the tears away with her hand. It was a moot gesture, because a second later she was crying in earnest, arms around her husband's neck.

"I just miss them so much and that bitch won't help us! What's the matter with her?" Draco wrapped both arms around his wife and pulled her onto his lap, murmuring soothingly. Hermione sobbed, feeling a bit better already, and when Narcissa opened the door, she found her daughter in law sniffling but otherwise relatively calm and her son looking slightly lost but otherwise doing his best.

She sat on Hermione's other side and hugged both her darlings. "All right, shhhh. Shhhh. What happened?"

Draco gave his mother a brief summary as Hermione's sadness ran it's course and she even managed a smile. "I feel better for having talked about it, Mother. Really."

"Are you sure, love?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I think Father is ready to start." Hermione stood so quickly she nearly fell over and steadier herself. Draco and Narcissa watched her go, smiling to one another. "She really is a most remarkable girl, Draco."

"Of course she is. Would we have settled for less?"

They both laughed again. "I wish this thing with her parents were less complicated."

"How so, love?"

"It would be easier if they'd been more—malicious—in their treatment of Hermione, in some ways."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "You mean because it would be easier for us to make a decision about whether to allow them back in Hermione's life?"

"Yes. And because…it just would. Do you feel that way?" Narcissa smoothed her son's hair and smiled gently. "Of course I do, darling." Draco was very young, and he'd yet to understand fully that love is neither as easy nor as clear cut as we might like. Sometimes it weaves chains around us, past and present twining to connect us with the old joys and shames, and shared bits of time that we call history. It was, Narcissa reflected, a terrible thing, sometimes, memory as poisonous as it is sweet.

In the library, Lucius was handing Hermione the first volume. "Love?"

"Yes, Father?"

"A little pixie told me what happened between Bellatrix and yourself. I was very proud of how you comported yourself."

"Thank you, Father."

They sat in the sunny library, redolent of beeswax and parchment, and worked in happy silence. Upstairs, Draco went and talked to Abraxas. There was a lot on his mind. He wrote Galten, for all intents and purposes his father in law, and told him what happened. Greg had to be restrained from violence when he heard what that mad bitch had said to poor Hermione.

Bellatrix was bored. She was full, and warm, and clean, so really she shouldn't complain. And there was no wolfman here to torment her with his unbearable smugness. No McNair to smirk and preen. No Rodolphus to…well, be Rodolphus.

But she was bored. And that was intolerable. She summoned an elf and demanded Andromeda be sent up. Meddie was always good for a quick laugh. No answer. Then she tried Lucius. Nothing.

The day after the failed détente between herself and the mudblood, the elves came and stripped her room of everything exciting. No books, no tapestries, no mirrors, nothing with which Bellatrix could amuse herself. Just blank walls and a bed.

So she was bored. And finally, desperate, she hit on a way she could, perhaps, amuse herself. But it would be hard. She was sure she could do it. Lying back, she planned her first steps.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:**

**Love to my reviewers, and my dear Countess Black, who is always patient with my insanity, and the demands of the plot bunnies (Malfoy plot bunnies, yet!)**

**John Keats coined the phrase 'negative capability' and gave more or less the definition below.**

** I tend to agree with Oscar Wilde when he said that the aim is to '...create art while obscuring the artist'. That said, the sense of loss that comes from a chronic condition which radically restructures daily life is very real. We define ourselves partly through what we do; a threat to that can be catastrophic. I am fortunate to have around me people who help me define myself not by what has been lost but by how I can challenge myself. Special mention goes to my daschund, Poohbear, for his unfailing empathy and sense of fun. Who can be sad when they have a doxie friend? :)**

**Dedicated with loving gratitude to the above, and for that reason.**

** Madea**

"Numb, you say?"

"Yes. Mainly the fingers, but sometimes the wrists as well. And my feet."

The healer clucked gently and motioned for Hermione to hold out her hands in front of her. The woman swished and Hermione's hands lit up, the bones limned clearly, all the tendons and muscles. There were no spots, nothing that might indicate a problem.

"I don't know what to tell you, Madam Malfoy. You say this is a recent problem?"

Hermione could feel Narcissa's eyes on her. She nodded, unable to shake the guilt that was insinuating itself in her bones. "I felt well for some time, but just lately…"

The healer nodded. "This things come in cycles, sometimes. I can't think of anything to tell you, other than to take it at reasonable speed. How is your joint pain?"

"My back and hips are bothering me off and on. And I'm dizzy all the time." The healer nodded. "The sickness?"

"It's still…well, I feel nauseous much of the time." Hermione shook her head and the world swam greasily, never quite tallying no matter how she stood or how much she tried to pretend she felt all right.

That was the frustrating thing, the deadly thing, in all this. She knew what all right felt like; she knew it was possible; she knew she didn't feel that way right now. She felt stiff and tired, and a miserable headache had been pounding her temples for two days, just enough to be a nuisance.

That was not the worst, even as she sat there and recounted it in a calm, sure voice. The worst was the constant temptation to self pity. Perspective is easy from above; but to seek it while enveloped in the fog felt impossible on days like this, where everything about her body was betraying her all at once.

"You don't think the problem with my hands is lasting?"

The healer looked away. "We'll have to see. Is two weeks acceptable to you?"

On the way home, Narcissa gently took her daughter in law's hand in hers, flipping it to look at the fingers, ink stained this time. "Darling, it will be all right."

Hermione swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Mother."

"Why don't we have Leesy rub you down with some ginger oil when we get home? The heat will do you good."

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. The stuff would work for a while and she would feel better, but it was a false comfort—before long she'd be back where she started. Worse, because the relief made it so she could almost feel normal again, and then it would come back.

"Tell me about what you're feeling."

"Frustrated. Everything's changed. Everything's different. It seems rather a lot, after this past year."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Betrayed?"

"Yes. And anger, I suppose. It hardly seems fair, sometimes. I keep telling myself everything will be better soon, but…I'm getting short on faith that it really will. I know how selfish that sounds."

"Selfish?"

"Why not me? I mean, I've been very lucky otherwise. It could be worse."

"Does that actually make you feel better?"

Hermione watched a bit of sunlight on the wall of the carriage. "Sometimes it does. Even if something…happens…the world will go on like always. It's comforting, not to matter in the scheme of things."

"Of course you matter, love."

"Yes, I mean…it's not the same. I know it's inconvenient for everyone to have to keep dealing with this, and…even the worst outcomes will bring some sort of good with them."

"_Hermione_." If it had been an option, Narcissa would have given the girl the hairbrushing as soon as they were home for even thinking a thing like that. Since it wasn't, she went for the next best thing, which was grasping the child's chin, tipping her face up and speaking very calmly and slowly.

"How would you feel, Hermione, to hear Draco say a thing like that?"

"Mother, I-"

"Would you like it?"

"No, Mother, but-"

"No buts. You know better than that. Now, what prompted that remark?"

Hermione gulped. "My hands. What will happen if I can't use my hands?" Narcissa had no answer, and so she stroked the girl's hair and prayed they'd find something to counter this soon. She wasn't sure how much more struggle any of them could take.

Lucius was surprised when his daughter in law came in, sighing, and settled beside him without another word. He sat still and studied her as subtly as he could; he hadn't survived the downfall of any number of regimes by being unperceptive.

"I take it you disliked what the medi-witch told you."

Hermione nodded. "She doesn't know."

"You expected something different?"

"No, but it might have been nice. It bothers me sometimes, all the things I don't know."

Lucius laughed, not unkindly, and took her hand, mindful of her hurts. "Darling, that's life."

"The older I get, the more I realise that." Hermione's brow was down, and Lucius had to school his face sternly against a smile. Hermione was always so cheerful, so mature, it was strangely reassuring to see her react to something to something with less than composure.

"When I was young, I thought adults had all the answers, and growing up would be like a treasure hunt of sorts. But it seems like adults just have bigger, harder questions to deal with."

"Have you ever heard of something called 'negative capability?'"

"No, Father. What does it mean?"

"It's a skill…an essentially adult skill… but at it's core, it's being able to accept that the human condition is largely mysterious. We don't get the answers we want, my dear. Living successfully means finding a way to be at peace with that."

Hermione got a strange look on her face. "The Scarlett Letter."

"Sorry?"

"The night Draco…left…he gave me a clue in a book I'd told him about. He'd bought his own copy and he left it for me…'The hearts holding such secrets will yield them up, not with reluctance, but with joy unutterable."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I'm following."

" He knew he couldn't give me an answer, because there might not have been only one. Just like this; we have to have faith it will fall right in the end."

Lucius looked away and found himself remembering that night, the chill shadow of Azkaban still upon him, memory hazy from the months of torment, body wracked with illness and starvation, and discovering what his son had been set to. The_ horror_ of the thing.

"I sometimes think on that night, Hermione, and wonder what I might have done differently. But I can never find a single point at which the tides might have been turned. It's a sort of comfort, to come to a place where one might think to oneself 'I did what I could, and there was nothing else for it.'"

"Yes." In her mind's eyes, Jonas Avery went down in her garden, his chest a wet pulp of bone and offal, his breath a wet rattle that seemed to echo improbably above the other sounds, and she didn't care. She stepped over the corpse and threw a hex, ducked, fought on, feeling nothing at the snuffing of a life that had tried to end those she loved.

"Draco told you nothing that night?"

"That he had to go away. We spent some time and then he asked me to go to sleep so we wouldn't have to say goodbye. And when I woke up-" She shrugged a little, sadly, and then called to ask Minky for some water.

"I should like to see this book, if you wouldn't mind."

Tibby was dispatched to find it among Hermione's things and came bearing the volume in her hands. She flipped to the inked passage and Lucius read a moment, nodding. "And you put it all together from this?"

"That was the final clue. There had been some other things I hadn't…it all made sense."

"What was it specifically?"

"The reference to Marks. It all made a kind of sense, because he told me that…it had to do with family business."

Lucius smiled. "There, there, love, I shan't scold. It was clever of you to have made the connection so rapidly." And suicidal for her to have gone after Draco, knowing what he was about. "What would you have done, had you caught my son?"

Hermione inhaled deeply. "I'm not sure. I didn't know he was supposed to…do that…so I would have asked him to come with me to Dumbledore."

Lucius nodded. "And when you could not, did you feel that comfort I mentioned?"

"A little." Hermione thought about the conversation she'd had with Narcissa in the carriage and blushed slightly. "May I be excused, Father? I need to think."

"Just as well. Greg asked Draco over. Something to do with Greg's marriage, I'm sure."

Bellatrix was waiting for a family member to come up. It had been a long time; likely someone would come and check. It was Narcissa, and she looked preoccupied. Bellatrix smiled. "Hello, Cissy."

"Bellatrix."

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine."

Narcissa blinked. "How do you feel?"

All that time in Azkaban had made the social nicieties a bit fuzzy for Bellatrix, but she knew that shaking her sister by the shoulders and demanding her trust was probably a touch heavy handed.

Bellatrix leant over and took Cissy's hand in hers. She remembered the days when Narcissa's hand fitted in hers, as her baby sister looked up and asked if she'd play dollies with her.

"Cissy? Do you remember that doll you used to have? The ones that was enchanted to act like a real baby?"

"Elspeth, you mean. I certainly do. I loved that doll."

"You used to ask me to watch it for you. 'I have to go to the shops and Elspeth will get fussy if she misses her nap'."

Narcissa laughed a little. "Daddy, too. He was always so good about agreeing."

Bellatrix patted her hand and let it go. "Has Meddie been eating? She's lost weight."

"She's under dreadful stress." Narcissa looked away, not wanting to mention that Bellatrix's former coworkers were a large portion of the issue.

Bellatrix found herself almost slipping back into the old familiar role. "If this keeps up, send her to me and I'll stop it straight away. Won't have her making herself ill."

For a second, Narcissa could hear the old Bellatrix, the one who played and scolded and watched Elspeth so she wouldn't wake alone. She leant toward her sister, half intent on resting her head in Trixie's lap like she used to do and let her eyes close. Just for a moment…she was Cissy Black again, and Daddy was in his study and all was right in the world.

Then she came back into herself, and she was Narcissa Malfoy, and people relied on her. She wouldn't let herself believe the look on her sister's face as she straightened her spine was hurt. It just wasn't. Neither of them thought it those terms anymore. They couldn't afford to.

Bellatrix didn't feel confused when Narcissa pulled away. She knew precisely what she was, and lived with it, and reveled in it. But it hadn't stripped her of her love for Narcissa, and her desire to take care of her sisters. She made herself swallow the hurt and move forward.

An elf appeared and asked Narcissa to come downstairs and into the study. She did it without looking back.

Draco landed at Goyle Keep about the same time Hermione and Narcissa arrived at St. Mungo's. Galten and Tiggy were nowhere to be seen; Off visiting for the night, he was told. Greg looked pale, almost sick, and he waved Draco inside with no preliminaries. "Everything all right, Greg?"

"No. Promise you won't tell anyone what I'm showing you?"

"Not even Father?"

"Well, of course your father. But not anyone else. Promise?"

"Father might want to tell someone."

"Fine. No aurors, at least, all right?"

Draco agreed. Greg led him to an outbuilding of the main keep, a sort of hut built in stone and wattle, with a roof of elderly straw and a small thread of smoke coming from the roof. He threw the door open the door, bent his big frame and led Draco inside.

Galvin Goyle lay on a crude mat of straw, massive body looking strangely small. His face had the grayish, sweaty hue of serious illness, and Alecto Carrow crouched beside him, holding his hand. "Gregory?"

"Auntie?"

"Have you brought help?"

Draco stepped forward. "What seems to be the problem, Professor?"

Alecto pulled the dirty wool blanket away from Galvin and Draco retched helplessly. But when he was finished, he knelt down to help. "Is it magical?"

"No. He was trying to crawl under a fence and a nail caught him." She indicated the swollen, reeking wound on Galvin's thigh. The man thrashed, moaning, and Draco made himself touch his leg. The heat was enormous, almost as bad as the smell. It was some kind of muggle problem, clearly. He knew someone who could help. Who would want to help.

He didn't want to involve his wife in all this. Snape might know. Snape might have an answer. But Snape was being watched. Hermione wasn't. Draco stood and went home to get his wife.

Lucius felt his heart sink at the sight of his son's face. Draco dropped his cloak on the divan in the study, sat heavily and said "We've a problem."

Lucius listened, interjecting occasionally. "You think she'd know?"

"I think she set my wrist for me. I can't stand the thought of getting her involved."

"Nor I, but what else can we do?" It hung, unspoken, between them, the thought that they could do nothing. Let Goyle shift for himself. But they couldn't; Lucius was remembering the times Goyle had shoved him out of the path of a spell, had eaten with him, shared the fear that they might not return from a raid with him.

And he was kin to Hermione now, as well. And the father of Draco's second. The dense vines of kinship covered them too fully, held them too tightly. He wished he could spare his children from what was to come, but they couldn't. He had the elves summon the women.

Apprised of the situation, the women of Malfoy manor went to work. Hermione produced a startling sum of muggle money from somewhere and asked Andromeda to change into muggle clothes and go to find a series of things she thought they'd need, and sent Tibby to Darlington to see whether any of her things from the Girl Guides survived the purge of her belongings by Bellatrix and Greyback. Narcissa ordered the elves to pack a truly amazing quantity of food and drink and bring it over to the Goyles. As soon as Andromeda was back, they set out, faces set, and the men could only follow.

"Father?"

"Hmmm?"

"Sometimes I wonder how ladies can be so fragile and do so much."

"We all do, love. You did the right thing by coming for help, by the way."

The first thing to hit them was the smell. Pushing the door inwards, it hit them like a wall. Hermione's face went green but she swallowed her gorge and pushed forward, kneeling beside the supine man. She tugged the blanket away and looked at what she had to work with.

Galvin Goyle opened one eye blearily. "Tarpeia? Peia, is that you?"

Greg took his father's hand. "No, Da, this is Hermione. Remember?"

"Yes, of course. The girl Draco married." He closed his eyes and started to shiver. "Tired' he gasped, and his head lolled to the side. Hermione touched him and gasped; his skin was on fire.

"He needs to go to hospital."

"We can't. The aurors'll get him." Greg sounded bleakly certain, and Hermione half wanted to say something comforting to him. The other half wanted to kill him for his stubbornness. She opened the hamper and pulled out some face flannels, wetting them and applying them to the man's head.

"What made you think to ask Draco?"

Greg inched closer. "You fixed his arm muggle style. Since this is a muggle thing, maybe you'd know how to fix it." Hermione felt her chest cramp. She couldn't stand the thought of letting Galvin die. But she also couldn't fix him. And even if she could, what then?

"Peia? Where're the boys?"

Greg's face contorted. "I'm here, Da, and Galten'll be back soon as he can."

"Where did Mam go, Greg? Custard's time is near."

"Mam…Mam stepped out for a moment. I'll take care of Custard, Da, it'll be fine."

"See you do." He lapsed into an uneasy sleep, and Hermione took a breath. "This is beyond my skills, but I can try to stabilize him until we can get him real help. Father, would you help me?" Lucius moved forward and held Galvin as Hermione checked her Girl Guide book and, whispering a silent, desperate prayer, washed her hands in hot water brought from Malfoy manor and began to clean the wound.

Goyle Sr. thrashed, moaning, and Alecto bent to help hold him. Hermione picked up a pad of cotton wool and pressed gently on the wound, cleaning the excrescence with hands that shook a little. Once it was clean, she used more soap and water to clean the injury, smearing salve on it and putting on a clean bandage.

"Greg, could you ask your elf to cook some garlic and add it to the wine Mother brought? It should help with the infection. And we'll send some windelwort tincture. That should help too."

Greg relayed the command to Nipsy and, seeing that Galvin was sleeping for the present, led the Malfoys back to the house. Once inside, they settled uncomfortably at the table, the only furniture which could accommodate them all, and planned what to do next.

"They can't stay here, Gregory. Surely you see that. Your father needs real care, and Alecto is being hunted by every auror in Britain."

"Yes, sir. But where can they go? Nowhere is safe."

Andromeda was being torn into a million pieces. These people were Death Eaters; they'd killed her family, driven her from her home, made life hell for all of wizarding Britain. But the boy sitting there had done none of that; he was dealing with a situation for which he was not prepared. She took his hand in hers and held it lightly for a second.

"Why not take them to Nottingham?"

They all turned and looked. "What?"

"Meddie, are you sure?"

Andromeda nodded. "Mr. Goyle, at least. I'm not sure how I feel about that woman."

Hermione was looking thoughtful. "Greg, your father left because he was afraid the others would find him, is that right?"

"Well, no. He was scared they'd attack the keep. It's not about him, it's about the family."

Hermione felt an urge to snort at male bluster but made herself nod. "That's what I meant. Since he needs help, why don't we see if the centaurs would take him?"

"Centaurs?"

"They might have some ideas, and they aren't involved. And the Park is huge. The house in Nottingham might be watched by one side or another, but they can't watch kilometres of dense woods all the time."

"Would the centaurs do it?"

"If we told them Greyback wanted your father, I think they would."

Andromeda squared her shoulders. "I'd be happy to go and convince them with you, Hermione."

"Now, Andromeda, what both of you need is-"

"To be able to sleep without worrying a whole cadre of Death Eaters will crash down on us any second. I might not have chosen to get involved, Lucius, but I am, and that means doing what's best."

"But Hermione is-"

"The only one with a rapport with the centaurs, not to mention protected by her condition. If there's anyone they won't attack, after Teddy, it's Hermione."

"If Hermione is going, I'm going."

"If Draco goes, I should go too. It's my Da, after all."

"How would you get there, again?"

Greg looked a touch sheepish. "Actually, my Da has a flying carpet. An old one, like, disillusioned to look like ducks. It'd be safe as houses."

Narcissa huffed. "How is it, Hermione, that you've a way of making the most absurd idea sound plausible? "

Hermione smiled slightly. "I was born lucky, I suppose."

Narcissa snorted. "Well, I don't like it. If nothing else, this ability might infect the baby, and then there will be two of them to deal with."

The whole group paused for a second before they laughed, and the laughing cut the tension just enough. "Galten and Antigone will be back tomorrow, Greg?"

"Yes, sir. Should be. That's as much of great aunt Maegara as anyone can stand." They laughed again and stood, decided and not wishing to be. "You shan't set off until full dark. Cissy, might we eat?"

They did, and after, Hermione asked to speak to Narcissa. "Mother?"

"Yes, love?"

"I never meant to upset you this afternoon."

"Of course you didn't. I'm just afraid that sometimes you forget that we care about you because we love you, not because you never bother us." She dropped her voice a little. "If your hands cease to work as they should, you're just as valuable to us. An elf can write, but only you are our Hermione."

Hermione blinked and surprised Narcissa with a hug. The older witch held her daughter in law tightly for a second and then gently pressed her back. "Now, go and charm the centaurs."

Hermione pulled the hood of her cloak up, put back her head, and prepared to do just that.

Hermione's first surprise was that the carpet looked nothing like the one from 1001 Nights. It was a large, woven carpet, true, but it had a sort of box in the center, such as an elephant rider might use. That made sense, she realised, thinking of how cold it would be, and the bugs they might otherwise become acquainted with. Draco helped her and Andromeda in and with Greg inside, they prepared to take off.

Draco saw his wife's face go white as the carpet juddered up into the heavens and found a comfortable cruising space above the clouds. Andromeda quickly squeezed her hand and proposed a game of 'What is my thought like?'.

It worked to kerb the nausea, but Hermione was getting more tired by the moment. She asked the leave of those present to lie down a bit, and Draco joined her, snuggling against her in the dark, chilly space, his cloak over them both.

When he was sure they were sleeping, Greg turned to Andromeda. "It was right decent of you to offer us your house."

"It was nothing."

"I was sorry to hear about your daughter. Just wanted to tell you."

"Thank you."

"Why did you offer us your place? If you don't mind me asking."

Andromeda couldn't help but like this boy. If he'd had a different sort of upbringing…"Did you ever meet my daughter? I know you knew Remus—Lupin—but did you ever meet Dora?"

"Can't say I did. Lupin was always nice to me."

"Dora…she wanted to help. Always. She would have seen suffering, and wanted to relieve it, regardless of the source."

Greg nodded. "Tiggy told me that's the best way to remember the people who leave us. Do something would've made them smile."

Andromeda suddenly made the connexion. "You were very brave, with your father. It was the kinder thing, to tell him what you did about your mother." Andromeda had gone to school with Tarpeia Rowle and remembered her for the stupid, grasping, selfish creature she'd proven.

"He'd have done the same. He's a good Da."

There was a fatherless boy in Wiltshire. Andromeda thought of Dora and her gnome house and vowed that she'd make this boy's life easier, for the beloved living and the beloved dead both.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **

**Muggles,**

**Being as the author is ignorant and presumptious, she has once more asked me to address you, and I have obliged out of the charity of my heart. To wit, many thanks to those who owled, and Countess Black, another wretched muggle that encourages the vile creature in her scribblings.**

** The author has asked me to explain a few things, being as she could hardly be expected to do as well as I:**

**The places mentioned in the story are all real. The distance between Malfoy manor, which is located by Mere, and Otterburn, where Goyle Keep is located, is about 550 kilometres, or 285 miles if ones flies. Goyle's lumpish son flew to Malfoy manor at a rate of roughly 80 kilometres an hour, or 50 miles. My idiot nephew, who flies like a house elf dances, was going roughly 145 kilometres an hour, or 90 miles. The carriage goes at a rate of somewhat over 300 kilometres an hour, or 200 miles an hour. This accounts for why Draco's flight took so much less time than Goyle's son's, and also proves my nephew is an ass.**

** I demand validation,**

**Bellatrix Lestrange**

Draco was hit by a strange cramp of nostalgia as he watched his wife, stomach bobbing, use her wand to light their way. In front of her, Greg was grimly cutting a path. Behind them, Andromeda was carefully covering their tracks.

He'd once, Draco remembered with an improbable smile, ordered Granger to feign adorable female helplessness; watching her calmly scanning their surroundings, he was glad she'd not taken his advice. Greg stopped abruptly, hand thrown up, and they froze. Ahead, a centaur raised his bow until he saw it was them.

Hermione stepped ahead of Greg and waved cheerfully. The centaur cantered over. "You are large with young."

"Yes. I wonder if I could speak to Magorian, please, Bane?"

"That depends. Where is the other?"

"Here I am." Draco made himself step forward and lock eyes with the centaur for a moment. Bane inhaled and Draco found himself wanting to wince. "You smell of death, human."

"It's my Da. He's in a bad way, and if we could just talk to the head bloke, we'd be obliged."

Bane snorted and moved closer to Greg, who held his ground. "Centaurs punish those who intrude on their territory." Draco was about to protest that Malfoy Park was a loan, at best, when Hermione poked him hard in the ribs. Greg never flinched.

"Maybe if you help us, we'll help you."

"What do you have that my clan might want?"

Hermione answered. "His family might know something about Greyback."

"Might."

Greg half smiled. "An owl on the perch is worth two in the tree, my Mam used to say. Better to have something than nothing at all."

"You have courage, wizard. Let it be as the female said. Our help—perhaps—for some news of the wolf."

He led them into the camp, where the others circled them, hissing at Bane. Magorian approached them, displeased, until he'd been apprised of their mission. His face remained impassive, but Hermione sensed—she hoped- that he was receptive.

"What is wrong with the wizard's sire?"

"Gashed his leg on a muggle fence. Poison, like, or something."

"It's not poison. The germs from the nail have got into his bloodstream." Hermione described Galvin's symptoms in detail, lingering on the foul discharge and the man's high fever.

"And you believe we might help?"

"Centaurs are known for skills with herbs. Perhaps some news of the enemy would be worth your expertise."

Magorian cocked his head. "A trade of like kind and value. A life for a life."

"We don't know what they know. But Alecto was with them quite a long time. She must have some ideas."

"You cannot promise us the wolf?"

"Not right now. But I can promise that, if they came back to the manor, you'll get a chance at them."

The centaurs hissed back and forth for a few tense moments, until Magorian nodded finally. "It is accepted, but we will keep them as a pledge of your intentions, this wizard and witch." Greg looked half ready to protest but nodded instead after Hermione gave him a look. Almost a Look, really, which disturbed Draco deeply.

"How shall we do this?"

"Greg and I will go back and then Apparate them here."

Hermione was shaking her head vigourously. "Galvin isn't well enough. The shock might kill him."

"The carpet will take too long." The flight had taken nearly six interminable hours. At that rate, the infection would have killed Galvin out of hand.

"Why do you not ask us to go to him and bring him here?" Magorian could smell the blood of his clansmen, and they were as excited as he. The wizards would fight, and that was immaterial; the sight of Greyback lying at his hooves, on the other hand, was something else.

"Magorian, you might prove a bit…conspicuous to the muggles. And there's a greater chance of interception."

"The carriage, then. We can spell the inside bigger."

"That would work."

"What about Alecto?"

"We'll Apparate her, and everyone else will Apparate as well. As long as Hermione's in the carriage, it will be fine."

"I'll go and retrieve Alecto, then." Greg bowed politely to the centaurs as a show of gratitude and was gone. Andromeda helped the children back onto the carpet and prepared for a wait to help receive the Death Eaters. The centaurs offered her a cup of tisane and she sat beside the small fire and watched, willing the stars to stay up for as long as it took.

In muggle terms, Greg was an ideal driver. In general (Qudditch being an exception), he preferred to go slowly and carefully. Not so with Draco. As soon as he felt confident Andromeda wouldn't see and tell Mother, he spelled the carpet's speed obscenely high and settled back with his wife.

Hermione was shaking. Draco winced, wondering if he'd scared her or done something which made her sick, when a laugh rang out. "Hermione? Love?"

"This is wonderful. I'd forgot how nice it is to be in the air."

"You hate flying!"

"On a broom. But everyone's being treating me like porcelain for so long, it feels grand to be doing something exciting." She didn't mention that her legs were throbbing and her hands felt encased in concrete.

He laughed, pressed her down gently and kissed her. "Know what would make it even better? If I could take you across my lap. I think an arse warming at this height is just what you need."

"Draco, you think it's what I need regardless."

"Yes, and?"

She grinned. "I can think of something we could do at this height."

"Oh? Did you want to play more 'What is my thought like?'"

Her response was to pull her robes up, hitch her gown to join them, and wriggle free of her drawers. Draco chuckled and stroked her. "I think my little girl is giving a hint. Is that right?"

Hermione would have replied, but she was too happy. And since his tongue was rather busy, Draco never made a follow up remark.

After, having scourgified everything and smoothed Hermione's rumpled layers, they snuggle as the wind buffeted the carpet under them. "Thank you, sweet. That felt wonderful."

"Would you expect less?" He smirked and Hermione pressed closer. "Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it." They were silent a moment, just being together. "Do you think he'll die? Galvin?"

Hermione sighed hugely. "Frankly, yes. The centaurs might be able to help, but…when I bent over Galvin, I smelt the infection on his breath." Draco winced again and wondered how the Goyles would take it if Galvin died. They'd always have the Malfoys, but Galvin might mean the difference between solvency and a slow decline into utter poverty.

"What do you make of Alecto? How was she at school?"

Draco shrugged. "Left me alone, more or less. You have to understand, love, that it worked a bit differently with Death Eaters than normal people."

"How so?"

"It was a bad idea to get too attached. He might think it diverting to use you against one another. Benign neglect was the kindest course, in ninety nine cases of one hundred."  
"What about the others? At school, I mean."

Draco snuggled closer. "They hurt them. He might have interpreted anything less as inappropriate pity."

Hermione knew to walk lightly. "I would imagine…being trapped in a situation like that…a person would have a lot of anger. It would feel good to vent it on someone else, no matter how inappropriate the target."

"I remember, Alecto used to try and make the Weasley girl cruciate others—Longbottom and Thomas, especially—and she'd be livid when she refused. She was always harder on the Purebloods."

Hermione rolled to cup his cheek. "I'm sorry you saw that."

"Hush. Also, Amycus once threatened to make me a eunuch if I upset Parkinson."

Hermione giggled. "Truly?"

"Muggle style, no less. He calls—called—calls—Pansy his little princess."

Hermione looked confused. "Why?"

"You didn't know? Xanthippe Parkinson was Xanthippe Carrow. Amycus and Alecto are her siblings."

"So why does Greg call her Auntie?" The vagaries of Pureblood genealogy made Hermione's head swim a little. Draco looked patient and continued.

"Because Antigone's mother was also their sister. Hecuba was oldest, then the twins, then Xanthippe."

"Would they take Alecto if the centaurs won't keep her?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "What, a Parkinson discommode themselves? Not likely, love."

Hermione shook her head and rolled on her back, sighing with relief as the carpet molded itself to her aching spine. "I wish they'd not outlawed this. It's wonderful."

"And dangerous. Greg and I are both better than average on a broom. It's the same principal writ large, so if someone wasn't being cautious, or an inexperienced person tried to fly during a bad windstorm, it could be a disaster."

A sharp gust rocked them, and Hermione felt her stomach jump. Draco adjusted them and they settled back once more, far above the countryside. "Hermione?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you all right?"

"Of course. You?"

Draco laid down beside her. "Fine. I'm enjoying having my little girl all to myself."

Hermione nuzzled into his neck. "It feels like all our problems are down there, doesn't it?" She guided his hand to her stomach and he held it, feeling his child under her heart.

"Is he happy?"

"The baby? I imagine so. Why wouldn't she be?"

Draco stroked lightly, feeling the barely perceptible node that meant a little foot or tiny elbow was resting against Hermione's belly. "Hello, love. Is it very nice in there?"

The lump fluttered and Draco grinned. "He knows my voice."

"Of course she does. She kicks when you talk." Hermione put her hand beside her husband's and felt their baby, trying to send as much love as she could. 'Be healthy. Please, be healthy.'

"I can't wait to meet him. It's like waiting for Christmas, don't you think?"

"Worse. She'll be just like you. I can feel it."

Draco kissed the little lump. "I should hope not. I want him to be more like you. Perhaps with the Malfoy common sense. And a Slytherin, naturally."

Hermione huffed. "You are _not_ going to start trying to influence the baby. She'll end up where she's best suited."

"Would I ever?' He turned and stage whispered to Hermione's belly. 'Darling, Mother is being wholly unreasonable, so do remember I'm not trying to influence you. But if you're in Slytherin, you can have double pudding until you're thirty."

"Draco!"

"Hermione!"

"You say I'm an incorrigible brat!"

"You are. Never said I wasn't."

The carpet finally touched ground again a few hours before dawn. Lucius came to greet them. Having been filled in, he led them to the shack to try and get Galvin comfortable for the journey. Greg was holding his father's hand, face tight, and beside him Galten and Antigone were crouching.

"Oh, thank God." Antigone was so overcome she actually hugged them both. Galten stood, nodded, and pulled the blanket away from his father. Hermione stepped closer and gently touched the man's arm. "Mr. Goyle?"

"Hmmmm? Cold in here, Peia. Ask Nipsy…boys asleep?"

"It's Hermione, Mr. Goyle. We're going to take you somewhere to get better. Alecto is coming too. Is that all right?"

"Where's Greg?"

"Here, Da. S'all right." Greg looked like he'd been crying in the recent past, but his voice was firm. He touched his father's shoulder gently. "We're going somewhere you'll like."

"Come on, then. Mam doesn't like to wait." Galten, grim faced, came out with a well cloaked Alecto. "We're to rendezvous at the manor.' He studied both of them. 'You've been right good to us tonight." Alecto latched onto him and they Apparated to the Park to hook up with Andromeda.

Narcissa and Antigone, dressed for traveling, were waiting beside the carriage. Antigone pressed a huge, old fashioned traveling mantle on Hermione, along with a muff of tattered selkie hide. Grateful for the warmth, the women watched as Lucius and Draco expanded the box of the carriage enough for the Goyle patriarch and tucked him inside, using a heavy sleeping spell to assure he wouldn't make noise and carefully applying a bubblehead charm to see he didn't stifle.

Closing the box, Minky took up the reigns as Leesy popped into place near Hermione's elbow. It was impossible that the men should kiss their wives publicly, so they didn't. But Hermione winked at Draco and Narcissa smiled bravely as they stepped in, closed the doors, and lurched into the air.

Hermione sighed, shutting her eyes, and relaxed with her head in Narcissa's lap. Much as she'd enjoyed the thrill of the carpet, it was rather nice to be safe in the carriage, bumpy though it was. Rather too bumpy, actually.

The charms which encircled the carriage were designed to protect the people riding in the main compartment. The driver (an elf, after all) wasn't nearly so lucky, and so all the stabilizing magic had been directed at the back of the conveyance. The added weight at the front, in the form of Galvin Goyle's body, was causing the thing to jerk, first slightly, then more and more.

Even that might not have been a problem, had an auror at the Buxton station not seen the juddering carriage, followed it, and ordered them to land Finding a likely field, Minky set them down. The women looked at one another and prepared for a confrontation.

The auror dismounted and approached the carriage on foot, seeing it was merely three highborn ladies and not some criminal enterprise. An elf in a tea towel opened the door and the auror bowed.

"Good morning, ladies. May I ask to whom I speak?" The

"Madam Lucius Malfoy, Madam Draco Malfoy, and Madam Galten Goyle."

The auror, one Patrocles Noisome, was startled to hear he was addressing the wives of the wizarding world's arch traitors. He straightened, smoothed the little mustache he'd been carefully cultivating since he was fifteen, and nodded solemnly.

"And may I ask where you're going today?"

"Wiltshire. Malfoy manor."

"I see. You might have noticed that your conveyance is malfunctioning?"

"It always does this. The carriage is an heirloom. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Quite to the contrary. It is most worrisome. Is it possible your house elf has been sneaking illicit butter beer?"

"Minky? Indeed no. I run a very well ordered house, sir." Narcissa had adopted her best tone of patrician disdain, but the auror would not be put off. Nothing much happened in Buxton, after all, as regarded wizarding crime.

"Perhaps the charms meant to regulate the weight of the carriage have warped with age?"

"You'd need to talk to my husband about that." Hermione felt her stomach writhing inside her. She put a hand to her mouth. Noisome noticed at once.

"Are you quite well, Madam?"

"Yes, thank you." The auror moved closer to the front and studied Minky. "You there, elf, is what your Mistress saying true?"

Minky, who'd been a Malfoy retainer for years out of mind, raised his head, sniffed disdainfully, and said "Madam is always telling the truth."

"What has caused this abnormal shifting?"

"Carriage is being old. Old things is sometimes being wonky." Minky wondered how bad an elf he would be if he gave the man a very slight blasting. He wouldn't have him upsetting his family with this nonsense.

Noisome bit back a naughty word. "Really, this lack of co-operation is most vexing. One would nearly think there was something to hide." He waited to see the reaction this would have. None was forthcoming.

"May I ask you ladies to step away from the carriage?"

"Unthinkable. My daughter in law is expecting." Hermione's grey face confirmed this, but duty is duty. He insisted, and watched as the elf helped the three ladies from the inside of the carriage. The other elf floated balefully at shoulder height, shooting him daggers.

Noisome stepped closer. "Now, ladies, what is this all about?"

"We've told you. This is a usual problem, which my husband will resolve. May we go now?"

"Your attitude is suspect, I regret to say. This has nothing to do with the recent…unpleasantness?"

"How dare you imply such a thing." Narcissa's temper was beginning to fray. She stepped closer to Hermione and gave the miserable peon of an auror a Look of epic displeasure.

"Madam Goyle? Have you nothing to say? Is there some sort of illegal political activity going on?"

Antigone stood taller. "You expect me to stand here and tell you we've a Death Eater we're hiding in that carriage? Fine, then. And a herd of hippogriffs and the giant squid as well. You ought to be ashamed, treating poor Madam Malfoy so when she's in the family way."

The auror was beginning to think he was in over his head. He turned to the sweet little thing in the middle. "Now, Madam, surely you'll be reasonable and tell me?"

Hermione hadn't slept or eaten in nearly twenty four hours. Her stomach was whirling in her insides, and the auror had the monumental misfortune to have drenched himself in cologne before he went to fly his beat. So her reaction, much as it embarrassed her, was hardly surprising. She leant down and vomited, as politely as possible, on Patrocles Noisome's new dragon hide wingtips.

"Bloody shite!" The unfortunate auror yelped and backed away as Narcissa and Antigone stepped forward to embrace Hermione. He started to say something else, but the elf which was apparently one of the ladies' maids decided to say it's bit. Rather, express it's bit, as he found himself being half mauled by a howling, clawing whirlwind, issuing threats which would have chilled the blood of a Dementor.

Antigone took the chance. "Cry, Hermione, for Circe's sake!"she whispered frantically. Hermione forced herself to concentrate on the worries and fears of the last night. The tears came quickly. She cried louder as Narcissa pressed her daughter in law's head to her chest and spoke as forcefully as she could.

"There there, my love, the nasty man will be going and we'll get you home straightaway. Hush, precious, you didn't do anything wrong. Shhh, shhhh." Antigone stepped closer to the auror, who looked more than a little shell shocked. "Will there be anything else?"

"I—ahh—just do get that checked over, the juddering, would you?"

"Certainly. Good day to you, sir." And with that, the three women climbed back into the carriage and took off, still juddering. Nesbitt took stock of the situation. He'd been insulted, made to feel foolish, sicked up on, and clawed by an elf. Perhaps Mum had been right; he would have made a better flobberworm farmer after all.

They managed to control their laughter until they were sure the auror was gone. Hermione conjured a cup and filled it with water to swish her mouth. The women were still giggling when they arrived at the manor, though when asked, all they could do was laugh harder.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N**: **Love to reviewers, and my darling Countess Black.**

** Authors, I believe, owe an unpayable debt. Every experience leaves a mark, and those help to form us into what we become. I've mentioned my human debt many times; let me turn a moment to the other family, the many furry people I've been priviledged to spend my life with. **

** So, to Freckie, Winky, Runt, Nosey, Bonnie, Grey, Carrie, Boots, Babe, Scarlett, Milo, Poohbear, Otis, Princess, Dottie and Buddy: Thank you. **

** When Snape is reflecting, he directly quotes Blaise Pascal. And then references the Illiad.**

** NB: As the situation unfolds, I will attempt to provide as much clarification as possible as to characters' motives, etc. but please be aware I may not be as forthcoming as usual, to keep things a suprise. Feel free to ask, but if I don't give a straight answer, don't be offended, ok? (:**

** ]****Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**Madea**

After Galvin had been safely delivered, the centaurs generously allowed Alecto to return to the manor to debrief the others. Having seen Goyle Sr. settled on a bed of willow bows and hides, they departed and made their way to a small salon, where Lirry personally oversaw the serving of tea and a full breakfast.

"You were there at Darlington, then?"

"Yes.' The woman sipped her tea and looked directly at Hermione. 'You fight well."

"Thank you." Hermione felt the incredible awkwardness of conversing calmly with the woman about that night. "Why did they come back?"

Alecto bit down on a plum, chewed. "That was Greyback. He was fuming. It isn't wise to let Fenrir stew too long."

"Was it Bellatrix who did the bed?" Draco still felt angry about that incident. He made himself nibble a rasher of bacon and plot bloody, horrible vengeance.

"She put the earth in, yes. The others did most of the rest."

"How did they get in?"

Alecto delicately spat the stone into her spoon. "Wormtail, of course. He spends half his time as a rat these days."

Everyone froze. "You mean…"

Draco's jaw tightened. "That bastard. I'll kill him." Wormtail, creeping like a wraith into the walls, the very floors and ceilings. Watching them sleep. Watching as Draco and Hermione made love. "Alecto, do you know anything about Mundungus Fletcher?"

She shook her head. "No. Sorry, that was McNair and Rodolphus."

"Do you think he's dead?"

The woman cocked her head, looking very like Antigone for a moment. "Knowing those two? Death would be the kindest thing. Rodolphus'…tastes…don't just extend to…nor McNair's."

Hermione made herself keep her face impassive. "Then you never heard what he told them?"

"No. I do recall going to the shed to look for more firewood and seeing their brooms; they'd just got in from someplace north, and they'd been joking about the blood traitor. The firewood was behind the brooms, and I went to move them, but my hand slid. The staves were slick with blood." She finished her tea and rose briskly. "Well, Malfoy, I should like to go back now."

Antigone also rose. "I'll walk you."

They moved in silence for some time, two women, joined and separated by blood. Antigone broke the silence. "He's dead, then."

"Should think. It's possible he isn't, but…"

"I thought as much." Antigone shook her head. She wished this Step Mam business were a bit easier. If she were really Hermione's Mam, she'd have known what to say. She wished the memory of her own mother were of greater help, but the shame and rage she felt whenever the subject came too close to her conscious mind led her to abandon that stream of thought quickly enough.

"What about Polycarp? Any news?"

Antigone shook her head. "None. Hasn't been seen since the battle of Hogwarts." Alecto squeezed her niece's fingers for a second. "He'll turn up, poppet. Carpie always does.' Alecto paused a moment, to let the spectre of her nephew vanish for both of them.

"Just as well. I expect he's miffed. Always resented my Galten never took the Mark."

"Who did he think would care for you and Greg if Galvin and Galten both were killed?" Alecto loved Polycarp, but she felt annoyed at his childish attitude in this. "I couldn't have married anyway, but Galten had responsibilities, especially after that tart up and left poor Galvie."

"That's Polycarp, though."

"Now that everything has calmed down, Antigone—you and Galten will keep trying, won't you? You're still young. It could happen."

It could, but Antigone prayed sometimes that it didn't. Her blood was tainted. Perhaps that was what led her to want to help Hermione, she thought as she kissed Alecto's brow and Apparated back to the manor. Everyone knows tainted blood shows itself, one way or another, in the end.

While the Malfoys were dealing with the problem of the Death Eaters, Harry Potter knocked on the door of a dingy townhouse. It swung open and Severus Snape loomed above him, looking like the ghost of himself.

"Mr. Potter. Have I died and gone to Hell?"

"I wanted to talk to you, Snape."

"Obviously. Selling magazine subscriptions?"

"Please."

Snape took a step back and Harry crossed the threshold, wondering what sort of place Snape lived it. It was small but clean, with dark stained furniture and books everywhere; It smelt faintly of herbs and old toast; it was as cold and solitary as it's owner.

"How might we end your imposition quickly, Mr. Potter?"

"You loved my Mum." Harry looked directly at Snape and didn't flinch. Nor did the potions master; he tilted his head and said, as thought he'd not heard "If I should offer you tea, it wouldn't keep you hanging about like a stray cat, I presume?"

"It shouldn't be a problem unless you set out fish as well."

Ten minutes later, they were sipping cups of boiling tannic acid garnished with ancient lemon and bits of sugar chipped from a sort of block in the sugar bowl. "You were saying?"

"That's why you helped me. You loved Lily."

"Yes." Snape took another sip of his tea. "I loved Lily."

"And you wanted to atone?"

Snape sipped his tea again. "I think about her every day. Your mother was one of those people who made everyone love her precisely because she did not try to. She was good and kind, and she loved you to distraction. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I want the truth. Is that why you did it?"

"'The heart has reasons which reason knows nothing of.'"

Harry blew through his teeth. "You never quit, do you?"

"Has it ever occurred to you to parse the night of the attack, Mr. Potter? You're dreadful at legilimency, but even you can pretend, can't you? Reach for the glimpses of his mind you got, Potter. Feel them. Let them flood you. Have you done?"

Harry nodded, remembering how it had felt to be so close to Voldemort's mind, how alien it was. He swallowed hard and forced himself to stay strong.

"Now see what he saw that night. James is dead. You step over the corpse and went upstairs to the nursery. Lily is there. Your wand is drawn. She begs you to spare her baby and you shove her aside. The baby is there. He's helpless, staring up at you, and Lily throws herself between you and the baby in the cot. What do you do?"

"I—I—"

"He attacked a woman defending her child. The higher sorts of animals, Potter, do not do that. I realised then, even before I knew the details, what He truly was. And I decided that I would end what I began."

Harry nodded and set his cup down. "I'm sorry my Dad was such a bastard to you. I always meant to tell you that."

"Thank you."

"May I ask you something else? Two somethings?"

Snape smirked. "When has not having permission ever stopped you?"

"Why do you hate Neville? He never hurt you."

"I don't hate Longbottom."

"You were always hateful to him."

Snape raised an eyebrow."Tell me, Potter, how long did it take for the Death Eaters to take over the government, again? A few months? That didn't happen in a vacuum, you know."

"Then you knew what was going to happen?"

"I had ideas. How long would you expect Longbottom to last in that environment? I toughened him, and it hurt, but it might have been the difference between death and mere psychological scarring."

"Did you know about Hermione and Malfoy? Before you bound him and I, I mean?"

"Of course I did." Snape set down his cup and gave Harry a malevolent smile. "They couldn't have been less subtle with it. I imagine it was quite a shock to Mr. Weasley, however."

"It was."

"Has he come to terms with it?"

"More or less." Harry didn't mention that Ron had dumped Lavender(again) when he discovered Hermione's pregnancy, and spent a drunk night on Harry's divan, complaining about the state of affaires until Kreacher used a bit of house elf magic to put him to sleep.

"Just as well. Much as Mr. Weasley would beg to differ, it would have disastrous, had they married."

"You really think so? They always got on all right."

" 'All right' is suitable to supper at a mediocre tavern, not a marriage. She's too intelligent for him; he would have felt emasculated and she would have had to mother him. For all my godson's faults, Potter, he loves his wife dearly."

"I get that impression." Harry outlined what had happened between Draco, Ron and himself at St. Mungo's that day.

Snape's face changed ever so slightly. "I've answered your questions, Mr. Potter. May I ask a bit of quid pro quo from you?"

Harry nodded warily. "If anything should happen, do keep an eye on Weasley. The last thing they'd need was Weasley rushing in and mucking things up."

Harry felt cold down his spine, all the way to his toes. "Happen, sir?"

"Yes, Potter. You of all people understand the damages of Dark magic."

"You don't think she'll…"

"Have you ever read the Illiad, Potter?"

Harry blinked. "No, sir."

"Achilles fought the river god himself to avenge fallen Patrocles. I think my godson would do the same, to save his wife. But love isn't always enough, is it?" And with that, Harry found himself shooed to the door and pushed, with surprising gentleness, onto the stoop. He left, with more questions than answers.

Greg was worried. He'd gone home, under strict orders from everyone to return, to retrieve Custard. He knelt on the hard floor of their miniscule hall and called. She wasn't on her cushion by the door to Da's room. She wasn't in the kitchen by the stove.

Greg finally summoned Nipsy, and the ancient elf returned a few moments later, clutching what appeared to be a dumpling, or very squashy throw pillow covered in dense red fur. Greg smiled and snapped his fingers.

"There you are! Thought something had happened." Custard miaowed plaintively, demanding to be released from the grip of the leathery, odious elf at once, and Greg took the cat from Nipsy and cuddled her to his chest. For her part, Custard wrinkled her vestigial nose and huffed. She was a cobby, pansy faced creature, with large ears and huge, bright eyes, and had absolutely no doubts that the humans she kept needed her input in everything.

Greg relaxed as the cat shifted herself onto his shoulder, pressing her head into his neck and purring a bit to reward him for coming when called. Greg spent another moment holding the cat and ordered Nipsy to fetch Custard's traveling bed.

Strapping the cat into it, Greg carefully secured the whole bulky equipage to the front of Malfoy's broom, which was faster and smoother than his, and in no time was sailing confidentially over the fields and hills of England.

Hermione had just woken and decide to get ahead on cataloguing to surprise Lucius. Asking Leesy to fetch Draco's lap secretaire, she sent Tibby for the next ten books and set up her supplies. When she picked up the quill, her hands felt numb. The last twenty four hours had been hard, obviously, and taken a toll, but she'd be fine in a moment.

Hermione tried to force her hand to form the first letter of the author's name. "Nobbsworthy. 'N'." Her fingers felt like lead; a second later the quill dropped from them. And again.

She wouldn't be beaten by a stupid pen. Her hips were throbbing and her back felt as though there were wires in it. She curled her fingers around the quill and set the tip to paper again, feeling it fighting her. It slid sideways and she finally threw it down in frustration, spattering ink on the parchment.

Tibby appeared and, surveying the scene, set to work. A quick charm had the ink cleaned up, and then she turned to young Madam, who was sitting with her head in her hands. "Tibby?"

"We is being here, young Madam. What is being wrong?"

"My hands don't feel quite right."

"Not feeling quite right how, young Madam?"

"Slow, and too big. This is awful. And my head hurts a little."

"Tibby is getting young Master?"

"Not right yet, Tibby. I need a little while. Would you mind sitting here with me?"

"We is not minding at all!" Tibby hovered gently by Hermione's elbow, thinking how odd it was that young Madam hadn't reacted with more anger. Every elf knows that wizards and witches are overgrown children, needing the constant care and attention of their elves for even the easiest of tasks. She'd thrown the quill, at least, but most witches in her position would have been raging and screaming, not staring into space.

"I'm sorry, Tibby."

"What is young Madam sorry for?"

"Making a mess. I shouldn't have thrown that." Hermione was mortified she'd been so childish. At the same time, she felt a terrible deep coldness within herself, as though a hand of iron had stroked her heart. She half wanted to stand and half didn't; what if she couldn't?

She finally took the pain potion Tibby bullied her into swallowing, and forced herself to her feet, feeling the world shift abruptly. Her knees half buckled.

"Hermione?"

"Hello, Draco."

He came in and put his arms about her. "What's this my little girl is doing?"

She forced her voice to be normal. "I was trying to work on the library, but I'm not sure I feel that well. Silly, isn't it? Just up from a nap and everything." Draco heard the very slight quaver in her voice and held her tighter.

"Shhhh. I've a surprise for you, but you must be very calm or it won't work. Promise?"

Hermione nodded and let herself be helped onto the bed again. "Come in, Greg."

Much thought she had come to like Greg, Hermione wasn't sure whether he qualified as a surprise, at least until he came in, holding a large wicker basket with a few little vents in it. He set it at the end of the bed and carefully undid the latch.

A gorgeous red cat stepped slowly out, first the head and then the rest. It's—her—sides bulged, but she walked with a regal disdain all the same. Draco loved making his wife happy, and did it often, but he'd never seen her as immediately, unreservedly joyful as she was when she saw the kneazle.

"What's her name?"

"Custard. She's my Da's, but since her time is so close, it's better for her to be where we are."

"Does Father know?"

"Of course he does." Draco didn't mention the other part of the conversation, the part where Narcissa had mentioned to Lucius about Hermione's concerns about her hands. When Greg had come to Lucius, asking what he should do with Custard, it seemed a godsend. Hermione would have a project to amuse herself with, and the Goyles could tend their business knowing the family livelihood was safe.

Hermione slowly put a hand down for the kneazle to sniff. Custard came closer and inhaled, taking in every relevant detail at once, the molecules weaving a chain for the cat, telling her everything she needed to know.

The female's belly intrigued her. Custard stepped closer, and tested the belly with her forepaw. It moved a little, and something in it shifted. Custard frowned and put another forepaw on the female's thigh, sniffing the strangely rounded belly. It smelt warm and yeasty, and Custard finally understood her purpose here at once. She cocked her head and rubbed her scent glands determinedly on the belly, and the young inside it, and the female. The male was approaching—not her Big Kitten, but a smaller male who smelt of the female on the bed. Custard thought it best to own the pair, and so marked him as well, giving a determined little snort, and then settling in beside the female, letting her own rigid belly show to demonstrate the correct posture. They were ready to have kits, after all, and there's a way one does these things.

Greg beamed. "They do best with people they choose themselves." He set down and stroked the kneazle's chin. Custard tilted her head back further and cocked her head to allow him to scratch her neck as well.

Hermione considered her dear grumpy Crookshanks, with his bandy legs and twitching tail. She missed his grumbles and sighs, and watching him bully Harry for the seat closest the fire on cold nights. On the other hand, surely he was happy in Australia. He loved to stalk insects, and with luck he was contently chasing a butterfly at that moment.

It was harder to think of Crookshanks than her parents, somehow. Pets are hostages to fortune, and while her parents had been forced into the situation, they had choices even now. Crookshanks didn't. And she couldn't explain it to him as she might have her parents; she hoped he didn't think she'd left him.

Custard stood, yawning, and gave the female a poke with her paw, looking about to indicate she wished to be taken on a tour of her new rooms. Hermione took the hint and stood slowly against the vertigo, taking the kneazle in her arms and, with Draco and Greg following, went into the sitting room.

The portraits stirred at once. "Children, how wonderful. And who's this?" Simpronia smiled as Hermione carefully put Custard down on the divan. "Aren't you beautiful?"

Custard generally held it beneath herself to bother with human speech; they responded to her cues, not the other way round. But she did have a few especial favorites, and 'beautiful' was one, along with 'supper' 'Custard's a good girl' and 'who wants to be brushed?'. She posed for the woman, flicking her tail to show it to advantage.

After a few moments of desultory small talk, they left Custard to get settled in her new room, as she soaked up the adulation of the portraits and stalked the elf that appeared. There was work to be done here, and, assuming the 'beautiful' words and stroking continued, it should be easy indeed.

Andromeda was sitting with Teddy and Narcissa when the children came in, laughing and chatting. "Custard is settled in?"

"Yes, Madam. She took to Hermione right off, just as you said."

"Of course she did. Hermione, love, Tibby seems to think you aren't well." She gestured to the chair and Hermione sat down.

"I've felt better, Mother. But not as bad as it could be. Teddy, come see me." She held out her hands and Andromeda handed the baby over, thinking of how much like Remus he looked in the face. Teddy crowed, determined to discover why Girl Cousin's belly looked different these days. He'd suggested to Aunt any number of times that perhaps Girl Cousin needed to burp, but everyone seemed to think he was saying_ he_ needed to. He frowned, resolving to learn to speak as quickly as possible.

The elf came for the baby and then the adults waited until everyone else had appeared. At exactly the agreed upon hour, Kingsley Shaklebolt stepped thought the Floo, along with Severus Snape. Snape had removed his neck bandage; the scars were hideous knobs of keloid scar tissue, red raised domes which started under his chin and vanished into his frock coat.

"Where are they?"

The Goyles had all gone still. Galten stood and moved subtly to block his wife. "Why should we tell you?"

Snape shot him an evil look. "Really, Goyle, where is your sense? Would I have brought him here if we hadn't worked out a plan ahead of time?"

"You always said to ask the right questions, Professor. Struck me as right, establishing terms straight away."

Snape nodded. "Quite. Ten points to Slytherin." Everyone smiled a little, even Hermione and Kingsley, before they sobered again. "Where are they, Galten?"

"Da's with the centaurs. Alecto's there, too. She's uninjured."

"I've decided to extend the house arrest to them as well, but it must be kept secret. We can't have people thinking that any Death Eater can get amnesty, even temporarily, by showing up here."

Lucius nodded, a touch sourly. " isn't a farm to put my former colleagues to pasture like elderly dragons."

Hermione bit her lip and said nothing, trying to look serious and not as though she were about to laugh uncontrollably, which she was. The image was just too funny to ignore. Fortunately, Snape stepped in and started to speak.

"Shacklebolt has agreed to allow me to speak to Alecto-and Galten, when he's well again—about any ideas they might have about the spell and how to counter it."

"And you've found nothing else."

Shacklebolt looked sad. "Unfortunately, Draco, it would seem the zeal of my predecessors would prove a serious stumbling block. By destroying the majority of cursed grimoires, they made the pool of information about how to counter this sort of thing rather narrow."

"Surely it must exist somewhere."

"I agree. Unfortunately, the only people likely to have such information are-"

"Death Eaters." Galten had a strange look on his face, somewhere between shame and sort of defiant sadness. He'd never taken the Mark, and thanked the ancestors for it every morning, but deep down he felt sometimes that he'd failed to participate in the defining conflict of his generation and regretted it.

"Yes. And I doubt they'll be forthcoming."

Lucius smiled humourlessly. "I suppose you've ruled out appealing to their better natures?"

"The only possible way would be to offer some sort of deal to whomever might have real knowledge. But…"

"But what?" The thin flame of hope in Draco's chest wouldn't be blown out. He stood taller and gave the Minister of Magic, supreme wizard in Britain a look that defied him not to have a damned good answer. "This is Hermione and our baby, Minister."

"Yes, of course." Kinglsey felt for the boy, he really did. All of eighteen and he'd dealt with burdens that would have crushed a man twice his age. But Kingsley had an obligation to the people of wizarding Britain, and that meant that there could be no further clemency for those who'd taken the Mark. Even to save a child's life, so every other child could sleep in peace.

Draco looked angry enough to draw on the Minister when Hermione succeeded in standing, murmured something to Lucius, who nodded, and said "I'm not feeling well, Draco. Would you help me upstairs?"

They walked to their chambers and into the sitting room and Hermione settled next to the kneazle, who found it most acceptable. Draco stroked Hermione's off her face gently.

"It'll be all right, love."

"Of course it will. But Draco, you know Kingsley can't offer any more amnesties. It would undermine people's faith in the government."

Draco didn't care about the government. Not a bit. He cared that Hermione was healthy and happy. He cared that their baby survived and throve, and he cared that the other people he loved be well. He was struggling with the childish, petulant impulse to kick the divan and tell his wife that. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys get what they want.

Except that he had no control. Perhaps Hermione could accept this because she was used to giving her control to him. He leant into her neck and smelt how sweet and clean she was, how warm.

"How are you not afraid, Hermione?"

"I am. I am afraid. But alive, for right now, and hopefully for a long time. But a lot of people aren't, Draco. Tonks isn't. Remus isn't. Fred Weasley isn't. Colin Creevy isn't. Cedric Diggory isn't. Can we put our happiness over what they gave?"

"Diggory was in the wrong place in the wrong time."

"Yes, he was. But the others weren't. They were my friends, Draco. Not to mention everyone else. The citizens of wizarding Britain deserve to be able to trust our government. And the muggles deserve to be safe from people who hate them for something they can't control."

"So that's it, then? We just wait for something terrible to happen?"

"No. We keep looking, and we hope. It's all we can do."

Hermione put her arms about her husband and held him. "If this can't end well, Draco, I'd like for them to be able to say of me that I knew my duty. There's no better epitaph than that."

"Except not having one."

"That, too." He sat up as the kneazle climed into Hermione's receding lap and miaowed pointedly, reminding them she hadn't had an ear scratch in years and years. He wondered whether his wife meant what she was saying. It scared him to think she did.

"I shan't stop looking for something, Hermione. Not ever."

"I know. It's one of the things I love about you." With his impeccable lack of timing, Greg walked in at just that moment. He gasped, nearly dropping the fish he'd brought specially from the kitchen for Custard.

"Blimey! Sorry about that!"

"No, come in, Greg, the moment is ruined." Greg sat awkwardly and snapped into business mode, offering the kneazle morsels of carefully deboned herring. Custard ate greedily; the kits sapped her energy.

"I just wanted to tell you, ah…we're right grateful for all you've done. Helping Da and all." Greg looked at the kneazle as he spoke, embarrassed. He knew he wasn't as smart as Draco, and not half as smart as Hermione, but he too had his duties.

"And we're glad about Custard, too. That you took her. We can't see to her like she needs the next few weeks, so it means a lot." The Goyles' lives depended on Custard and the precious cargo inside her. Most British kneazles—most kneazles in Europe, for that matter—were at least a quarter cat. Custard was the one of the last vestiges of a line of pure kneazles stretching back nine hundred years.

"She's very nice, Greg. My Crookshanks is part kneazle, you know." Greg nodded, remembering the bandy legged tom who'd prowled the hall. Looking at him, one could almost hear the muttering in disgust that surely made up a goodly portion of the creature's inner monologue.

"I noticed how foreshortened his lower jaw is. Is it possible he's some Caledonian Silvestrus in his lineage?"

As the three youngest people in the house (except Teddy, who was asleep) debated Crookshank's lineage, the adults went quietly upstairs to see what Bellatrix had to say. "Goyle and Alecto are _here_?"

"Yes, Trixie, that's what the nice gentleman said. Have you any thoughts on that?"

"She's an irritating cow, and he's too thick to catch a bludger hurtling at his head. No offense, Goyle Jr."

They went back and forth on this issue until Tibby and Leesy both burst in, screaming felt something twinge in her bones; this was real. Overcome, Tibby just pointed downward. Everyone stayed still until she choked out "Young Madam!" and fainted dead.

Both Malfoys sprinted for the stairs, followed by Andromeda, Antigone and Galten. Had Draco been a moment later, he might have been knocked down the flights of stairs which led to the tower. He wasn't; ignoring them all, he kept running. Lucius reached out and grabbed him. Draco was sobbing, and his hands were red.

"Draco? Love, tell us what's happened."

"H-Hermione! We were talking and she said she felt a little dizzy and then she started bleeding from the nose."

Narcissa went white. "Is Gregory with her? Is she conscious?"

"Yes! He's there. She's says she's all right. It was everyw-where!" He was still crying. Lucius gently released him as his wife Apparated to the children's rooms and the rest ran there as fast as they could. Draco was going the opposite way. Lucius followed, worried what the boy would do, and when they got to the room, Draco shoved the Minister and faced his aunt.

Looking back on it in his old age, Kingsley would remember the whole thing with a nightmarish clarity. The Malfoy heir was red faced, his hands smeared with something that could only have been blood. He was crying. "You bitch! What've you done?"

And she looked at him, and laughed, and said nothing.

**A/N: To everyone getting impatient with Bellatrix, this is headed somewhere, I promise. Also, if her actions seem at cross purposes sometimes, remember Snape's quote up top. And the fact she is _seriously_ insane.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:**

**Darlings,**

**Madea's been quite diligent lately, probably through my encouragement and my husband's gentle persuasions ( I mean, who's to say where the line between 'playing with the cat' and 'holding it hostage' really lies?)**

** Our dear Countess Black is such a sweet, wonderful muggle. Not like some I could name, which brings me to my next point:**

** There's some indelicate references to the female indisposition. I'm ordering all of you to skim, as it's not something nice people talk about.**

**I know you shan't disappoint me by refusing to respond,**

**Narcissa Malfoy**

Bellatrix never regarded herself as evil, or even especially bad. Given the company she was accustomed to, this isn't a surprising development. No matter the depths to which she sank, she could honestly say the vast majority of it was devoted to a goal beyond mere sadism.

Which isn't to say that didn't play a part. But she quite liked to think herself a decent enough person, and so when Draco burst in and actually dared shove Kingsley Shaklebolt aside, she felt a sort of pride. 'Good boy' she wanted to say, and pat him 'don't let that blood traitor stand in your way."

She had no time, though, because a second later his hand has closed on her throat and she found herself hauled bodily from bed and held against the nearest wall. His face was scant inches from hers, and the smell of his cologne mingled with the blood which slicked his hands and dripped slowly onto the rug.

Now, this was a step too far. Correction was needed here; if Lucius wouldn't step in and give the boy a lesson, Trixie would have to, much as she knew it would upset poor Cissy. "Familiar, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The blood. Remember how it ran down the walls that night? Greyback was licking it up, wasn't he?" She dropped her voice to a low, caressing whisper. "How did it feel, Draco?" His face contorted, and she thought he'd cry, but instead he pulled his arm back and she traveled backward in a short, sharp arc and smashed into the wooden paneling with a sharp crack.

"SHUT UP! YOU DID THAT, NOT ME!" He made as though to swing her again and Lucius and Shacklebolt stepped forward, rescuing Bellatrix before he killed her in a rage. Bellatrix was not much worse for the wear, but Draco was shaking all over.

"All right, shhhhh. Shhhh. Go and sit in my rooms, love, it's all right. Go on." He gave Draco a sharp look and Draco obeyed, too angry to form a coherent response. Lucius went after his child and the Minister of Magic and the successor to the Dark Lord eyed one another.

"Well, Minister, that was a bit of excitement." Bellatrix rubbed the knot forming on the occiput of her skull and smiled cheerily, rising to her feet and making her way back to the bed.

Kingsley turned to leave. "I'd threaten you with a Dementor's Kiss, but I think you'd choke whichever one did it.' He called an elf. 'Patch her up."

Lucius found his son sitting in the soft armchair by the fire, whilst Tibby scrubbed his hands clean, crooning softly. He put a hand to Draco's shoulder and shooed the elf away. "Draco?"

In a flash, Draco was standing with his head against his father's shoulder. "She's_ sick_, Father."

"Yes, my darling, she is. What happened?"

"She was telling Greg about her cat, and she got a funny look on her face, and put her hand to her nose and mouth. It was dripping between her fingers…she was so white. She kept saying she was sorry…it was everywhere. It was…"

"Do you remember when you used to get nose bleeds? Was it like that?"

"No! I mean, it wasn't dripping. It _gushed_." Lucius swallowed hard and rubbed his son's back to calm him. " And nothing prompted it? Hermione was calm? In good spirits?"

Draco nodded. "She seemed fine." Lucius tightened his arms about his son a moment and then stepped back. "Go into my shower and clean up, Draco. I'm sending Minky for clean clothing, and then we'll go and see Hermione and Mother, hmmm?"

Accustomed to almost twenty years of obedience to Father, Draco did precisely what he was told. Tibby scrubbed the smell of copper and salt from his skin, and then sprinkled him with cologne, helped him comb his hair and dress. Draco stood unprotesting, not swatting her away or cursing or anything.

"Do I have to apologize to Aunt Trixie?" He asked as he slid on his shoes and tied them. He was absolutely mad to get back to Hermione, but washing the blood from his skin had helped.

"Mmm, no. But only this once. It's really very gauche to choke a prisoner in one's home."

Less than fifteen minutes had passed since the bleeding started. When Draco and Lucius went back to the rooms, they found Hermione pinching her nose shut, head bent forward, as Narcissa stroked the back of her neck and crooned. "There, shhh….shhhh."

"Has Snape been called?"

Galten nodded. "He has. Antigone's gone to get her herbal. Her great aunt had a very good cure for bleeding, something with spider silk and ashes from the horn of a Hibernian mountain goat." In the Master bedroom, the Floo hissed and Snape walked in a moment later, nodded to everyone present and pulled a phial from the bag he was holding. "Hermione, I need you to drink this."

Hermione took it and bolted it without a word. Immediately the bleeding, which had gone from a geyser to a small fast stream just in the time Draco had been gone, stopped. Hermione smiled and took her hand away. The vestiges of the blood she'd been keeping in poured out, hitting her lap with a thick sort of plop, and Draco's stomach lurched sharply. He ignored it, opting to sit beside her to help her feel better.

Snape took his wand in one hand and held Hermione's wrist in another. Pressing her pulse point lightly, he swished and went still as he read the scrolling band of light that appeared just above the place he had his hand.

"My God.' He looked to Tibby. 'Bathe the girl and get her into bed as quickly as possible. Everyone stays in here except Draco." Draco picked Hermione up and carried her to the bathroom. He wanted to bathe her himself, but Tibby would do it faster.

Hermione smiled a little blurrily as Tibby scrubbed her hair and soaped the blood off her skin. "I'm sorry, Draco. What I fuss I've caused."

"Hush. Not another word."

Her head lolled forward and for a frozen instant he thought her dead, but then her hand gripped the side of the tub, and she laughed weakly. "I'm glad Mum and Dad can't see this. They'd make me take all sorts of muggle medicine." That was the last thing she said until he tucked her into the bed.

"Don't leave?"

"Not for a second, but don't say another word. Just rest and let us do everything."

Snape came back in, followed by the whole group, even Kingsley. Greg was holding Custard, who miaowed to be put in bed with her new female, and immediately set about kneading the covers next to the female's thigh, snuffling her displeasure at this strange disruption.

"Hermione's sanguine humours have been infected with some sort of choleric miasma, causing her blood to flow faster than it should. I'll need to stay the night at least. If the level of choler in her system hasn't dropped in twelve hours, we'll need to Portkey her."

Everyone relaxed slightly and Narcissa motioned the elves to start preparations to make ready the extra rooms that would be needed. "Have the elves open the Northern wing of the house. Yes, all of it. And tell Lirry to plan meals for fourteen for the foreseeable future. Now, idiot!"

At Snape's insistence, the group dispersed, leaving Draco and Hermione alone. Except for Custard, who wouldn't be shifted. She lay on Hermione' s left, purring contentedly, and Draco sat on the right, holding his wife's hand.

"Are you sleepy, darling?"

"No, not really. You?" Draco looked annoyed. It felt right to him that she ought to be worn to pieces by the ordeal, not well enough, all things considered. He touched her cheek. "You held up like a very big girl, love, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded. "You didn't kill Bellatrix, did you?"

"Not at all. What shall we do?" Hermione could tell there was more to the story but opted not to press. She snuggled against the pillow. "Have I ever showed you my album?"

Draco vaguely remembered seeing it …somewhere. And then he remembered and laughed. "That's what you were looking at that day you petrified me!"

"Yes, I was."

He grinned and nodded. "I certainly do. It'll make you remember what happened next, won't it?" Hermione asked Tibby to fetch it from the shelf she'd tucked it on, and in a moment they were looking at pages of buck toothed Grangers and serious, dark eyed people Hermione explained were her mother's people.

"Your parents saved your marks?"

"Of course. Every time they'd get sent home, my Mum would tuck the paper in here." Hermione smiled and squirmed both as Draco promptly opened the envelope, which was labeled in a neat, small hand, and began to read.

"My word, Hermione! An 'unsatisfactory' in conduct. Tsk tsk, my girl."

Hermione laughed. "It was partly Brucie' fault."

"Brucie?"

"He was this putrid little toerag who used to tug my braids. One day I told him if he didn't stop it, I'd hit him. Next time he did it, I punched him in the nose."

Draco raised his eyebrows to his hairline. "Seems to be a pattern at work."

"He tugged them hard. It made my whole head hurt."

"Mmm hmm. I think you know what the consequences would have been had you know this family." Hermione squirmed harder but giggled again as well. "What happened to the poor bloke? Did you addle him totally, or has he recovered himself somewhat?"

"He's a borstal boy, actually. They caught him lighting fires in mail boxes."

"He's a what?" As Hermione told the story, Snape ascended the stairs of the tower in grim and joyful expectation. He opened the door, slipped in and locked it after himself. Closer the children's chambers, Narcissa was scrubbing blood from under her nails. She'd quietly taken a volume from the shelves of the library. It was sitting beside one of Narcissa's jewellery boxes, the place marked by a scrap of silk ribbon.

She swore Antigone to secrecy and sent her to an apothecary the Malfoys had never frequented, and paid in cash for a number of things. Antigone knew what they were and said nothing. Neither of them thought to check the side effects of various herbs together; the book assured the draught would do no lasting harm.

But the sexism of wizarding culture ran deep, and the author never bothered to mention that certain herbs have different effects on females than males. Especially something as meaningless as triggering menses. Who'd want to drug a woman, anyway?

When the screams drifted from Bellatrix's room, they were ignored. Snape wouldn't do anything extreme; in fact, Lucius rather wished it could be he, except that he wouldn't hurt darling Cissy that way. But that didn't mean he couldn't decide to sit on the steps of his own home for a rest, did it? The salon off the landing was simply too far to walk at the moment.

Neither Bellatrix or Snape ever discussed exactly what went on between them while the door was closed, but Snape actually smiled at least twice that afternoon. When Narcissa quietly went up an hour or so later, Bellatrix was lying sulkily on her stomach, head on her arms, clad only in her drawers and camisole.

"I've brought you something to help you feel better." Narcissa held out the cup and smiled invitingly. Bellatrix huffed and took the cup, drinking it after only a second's pause. "Stupid bloody tosser. I'll fix him."

Narcissa cooed soothingly. "I know, darling. You never did like being-"

"That is emphatically _not_ what happened. We had a discussion, that's all, and he was a terrible prat about the whole thing. Jumped up whoreson bastard." She would have said more but the strangest thing had happened. Her feet were quite numb. And her ankles. And her legs. And her arms.

"Narcissa, what-"

"Sorry, Trixie. You'll be fine in an hour or so." Bellatrix would have said something but she couldn't move. Narcissa gently lifted Trixie enough to slid under her shoulders, holding her sister's head in her lap. "Just try and relax, love. It shan't hurt a bit." She snapped her fingers, and ordered the elf that appeared to fetch a few interested parties.

The door opened and Lucius stuck his head in. "You never fail to amaze me, Narcissa."

Narcissa blushed a little. "Couldn't have done it without your book."

"I've always loved windelwort blossom. Was it the tincture with catnip and orris butter?"

"Mmm hmm. Trixie must be absolutely furious, though." Narcissa stroked her sister's hair and held her more tightly. "You'll feel better after, I promise." She'd obliviate Bellatrix, get her to nap, and when she woke she'd be fine.

Snape bowed his head. "Well done, Madam. Shall we start?" Behind him, Galten was smiling. Hermione was a good girl; she seemed to have her priorities straight, and he liked to think her muggle parents would feel better, knowing Hermione was being cared for. And that the bitch who'd done such an awful thing had got hers. Galten had great respect for Lucius Malfoy, and would never insult him by offering violence to a guest in his home. But he'd promised himself a chat with Bellatrix, and Galten was nothing if not patient.

All the same, he wished Madam Malfoy weren't here. It wasn't fitting she might hear something scary or upsetting. On the other hand, Bellatrix was technically a married woman, and none of them could touch her without impropriety (not that Galten had so much as looked at another woman in ten years; his Tiggy was all the woman he needed, thank you very much).

Snape bent over Bellatrix and raised his wand. "Legilimens". He found himself in her to the hilt, not unlike that night in Scotland; it had the same quality of vicious sensuality, the fruit that was so sweet because it was rotting. She pushed back, hard, shutting mental her doors against him with a clang.

After fifteen fruitless minutes, Lucius had an idea. He bent and whispered something in Narcissa's ear, and Narcissa, nodding, gently put a finger on her sister's ribs and twitched it. Bellatrix couldn't move, but a strange noise emerged from her throat; she was laughing.

That was all it took. Bellatrix's mind was a swirl of colour and feeling and movement. Most people's are, but there was a sort of terrifying complexity to it which made Snape's skin crawl. The human mind, by necessity, is a honey comb like structure, many little pathways leading to the most important places, orderly and precise. The combs of Bellatrix's mind had warped and rotted in Azkaban, rendering them more like an overturned jewellery box; a mélange of things with no discernable pattern, impossible to separate gold from dross.

And then she was there. "This is oddly familiar. I'd say unpleasant, but if you're previous pattern holds, it should only last another thirty seconds or so."

"What man could tolerate you longer than that, Trixie?" He dug a little deeper, trying to find the patterns which would lead him along the needed synapse, probing for the electrical impulse that carried the message he wanted.

She went still a moment and he was preparing a jibe when she summoned an image of such singular horror that he recoiled for an instant, and she jumped into the gap, thrusting him out and locking her mind like a Gringott's vault.

"I'm done playing with you, Severus. But it's amused me. Perhaps come back tomorrow and we'll have another go." He tried once more but she just leered at him, and he pulled back. It wouldn't do to damage her, tempting though it was.

Leaving Bellatrix obliviated and asleep, the group quietly left to plan what to do next. No one pressed Snape for details about what had been seen. As Lucius had told Hermione, one could go only so far and stay sane.

In rooms far happier than the tower prison, Draco was listening to Hermione's stories about the pictures. "That's Mum on the day she graduated from University. She and Dad look so young!"

"Why does she look so podgy?" Draco pointed to the muggle's middle, which prompted Hermione to poke his ribs. "Draco! She was pregnant with me!"

"What?" Draco set the album down and stared at his wife. "You're teasing me."

"Not at all. I was born a few months later." Hermione looked away, uncomfortable, and Draco took her hand. "Darling, where were your grandparents in all this?"

"They lived in Bramsgrove. Why?"

"Weren't they awfully worried your mother was pushing herself too hard?" He could imagine precisely how Father and Mother would feel about the idea of University courses whilst expecting, but he didn't want to upset his wife, who was still awfully pale.

"Mum had excellent health the whole time. Strange cravings, though. Jelly baby sandwiches on with mustard." Draco could guess what a 'jelly baby' was, and gagged at the mere thought. To distract himself, he pointed at the next picture.

"Who's this?"

"That's Nan." Hermione snuggled against him. "She's the one who died the summer before sixth year."

"I remember. Your mother's mother?"

"Yes. She was the first person who ever saw me do accidental magic."

"Oh?"

Hermione nodded. "I was four. I'd got a music player for my birthday and learnt to use it, so I was dancing. I thought of how nice it would be if Badger could dance too, and then he was. He was sort of floating alongside me when Nan came to call me to supper."

"What did she do?" Draco forced himself not to think of beatings or that they locked his poor darling little girl in an attic or something, or starved her. Instinctively, he cuddled closer, hoping to comfort her through a very scary memory.

"She asked me how I did, and I told her I didn't know. That was all."

"Are you sure, precious? You know you can tell me if she was upset with you."

"She was fine, Draco, truly." Hermione laid back against the pillows. "She knew about you."

Draco blinked with surprise. "How?"

"I told her. She could tell I was different when we saw one another over the summer and I told her the truth."

He liked that for no especial reason. He would have kissed her, but Custard grumbled pointedly, reminding them that sort of behavior had got them in all this to begin with. So they waited until she'd dropped off and kissed as much as they liked.

Bellatrix woke up with something damp trickling down her thigh. She wondered fuzzily what had happened, stuck her hand into her drawers and came back with red fingertips. She blinked in surprise; her cycles were irregular, the product of some much Dark magic use, and it had been a long time.

Still, even a budding Dark Lord must deal with the vagaries of human experience, and so she called for an elf to bring a tub and some rags. Screaming at the elf to leave, she sat naked in the tub and pondered. She missed her wand, and if she was to accomplish her goals (this morning now seemed to her an unfortunate loss of control, but of course her humours were out of balance due to her body's preparations to bleed), she need her magic. And Greyback, much as she hated him. She'd made the right choice to leave, but it most inconvenient that she didn't have the wolf to call on when needed.

Unless… Bellatrix stepped from the tub and attended to herself as quickly as possible. She called the elf to remove the water, and demanded a quill and inkwell, along with a sheet of parchment. She wrote a quick note to Narcissa,alerting her of what had happened and asking for a supply of migraine potion and some of those chocolate cauldrons she'd always liked. Why not get extras and the three of them would have some together and chat?

The elf knew better than to leave spare parchments lying around. But when Bellatrix snapped at it to take the note _now_, it left the quill and ink. She snatched a spare rag and scribbled a few salient words, then stuck it under the bed to hide it while it dried. The elf came back, indicated Madam had agreed and ordered that she lie down and not strain herself.

Absurd as it was, Bellatrix felt a sort of affectionate amusement at that last. Narcissa was, and would always be, the baby. If anyone would be ordering anything, it would be Bellatrix; it was her job to see her sisters were doing what they should. Once she'd fixed everything, they'd be right as rain in no time.

She waited until the elf had gone and concentrated hard. She felt the magic in her body, the tips of her fingers and toes, her belly and heart and brain. It moved in her blood, like a current; it danced like lightening along her spine.

Her Mark was exposed and tingling. She concentrated harder and felt the magic coalesce like light. Breathing a silent prayer, she slammed her hand down on her Mark and felt the sharp thrill penetrate her, an orgasmic burst of magical movement.

Downstairs, Draco and Lucius clutched their arms and jerked, as did Snape. Alecto Carrow jumped and Galvin moaned in his sleep. Custard raised her head and growled sharply at nothing, her ears ringing with…Something Bad.

"Draco? What's happened, sweet?"

"They're up to something again." People were dying somewhere. He couldn't help them. Hermione rested her head on his arm and murmured. There might have been more conversation, but Snape emerged from the laboratory holding a phial which, he said, might help them to fix whatever had been done to Hermione.

Even if he hadn't, it wouldn't have occurred to them that the source of the emanation was their own house. Things like that don't happen.

On Hermione's other side, Custard was staring fiercely at something the Big Cats couldn't see. "Go away' she hissed, directing it at Something Bad, which was a smell like cold iron and bloody prey 'Go away and leave us alone." For the moment it did, and she laid down and went to sleep again. Her time was near.

In Wales, Greyback stood impassive as Edda ministered to the old man, who was well and truly dying at last. "He won't last the night, Fen."

His reply was cut short when Peter Pettigrew Apparated into his cave, breathing hard. "It's Bellatrix!"

"Bellatrix is at Malfoy's, idiot." Greyback forced himself not to maul the rat man and turned to scare up something for supper. Pettigrew shook his head and tugged the sleeve of his dirty jacket back, showing the way his Mark had darkened slightly.

"We think she's summoning us. Will you come?"

"Fine." The two Apparated to the farmhouse the remnants of Bellatrix's Death Eaters had colonised. Walden McNair smiled predatorily. "Shall we go and check on darling Bella?"

The small group Apparated near the wards and waited for their chance. It came in the form of a snowy owl, weighed down with parcels. It was easily stunned, and Imperius'd the second it woke. Pettigrew became Wormtail, and climbed fearlessly into the things talon. With McNair guiding, the owl and rider followed the trail of Dark magic to the tower room. Wormtail lept onto the roof and smelt until he came to a piece of white cloth which had been jammed into the crevasse between two stones. Picking it up in his teeth, he waited on the roof, his scent hidden by the powerful smell of the owls below his feet, until the delivery owl came back for him.

Greyback caught him in one hand and took the message in the other. His eyes widened as he read. "Isn't this rich?"

McNair snatched it and read. "My God, she really is mad."

"Is she?" Greyback's teeth were broken and stained with red. "This seems pretty clever to me." Greyback suddenly put his head back and smelt deeply. "Apparate, go!" They did at once, and the dust of their movements had just settled when the first centaur burst into the clearing.

"I could swear I smelled wolf!" Bane stomped a hoof in annoyance and Rowan smiled teasingly. "You just want that pelt, brother." The younger centaur said nothing, cocked his head. "Why don't we go and patrol a bit early. Just to be sure." They both felt the unquiet, and they joked less than usual.

George Hamm died that night, and his body was seen to in the usual manner. He was wearing quite a nice coat, which Greyback gave to an up and comer called Whitefoot. This young werewolf (who'd be passing as normal since he was bit at age ten) slicked up his hair and Apparated to a small town called Buxton. He spent a few days watching the aurors come and go and then reported back, still looking respectable and bourgeois. Greyback was well pleased.

A week or so after Hermione's nose bleed, Patrocles Noisome went on his usual morning flight. The sun was high and he could smell the last of the summer's riches over the cologne in which he'd marinated himself. There was a figure far below, sending up sparks with a wand. Noisome swooped down to investigate and was duly stunned, falling from his broom like a dead duck.

Whitefoot and his band studied him a moment. "I don't care what Greyback says, I'm not growing some poncy little mustache." Whitefood nodded in agreement.

"I said he was an easy mark, not that he had taste."

All the same, the other male bent and performed a quick shaving spell. "Looked like a dead flobberworm under his nose, it did."

They collected the hairs and carefully put them in a pouch. "Think that'll be enough?"

"Ought to. His cologne's awful too."

"It is." Laughing, they left him there and went home to Wales.

Noisome couldn't imagine what had led him to shave his beloved mustache. Witches loved it; it made him look like the muggle actor Errol Flynn. But he didn't report his strangely ordered memories to his superiors. They might think he'd been drinking on the job. And Polyxena in Magical Zoning smiled at him, so perhaps the mustache wasn't such a loss after all.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N**:

**Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

**WARNING: This chapter has content which some will likely find OFFENSIVE AND DISTURBING. **

**Artistic honesty forbids flinching. Having commited to this course, I am obliged to see it to it's end, no matter how terrible. Anything less, I believe, is a diservice to the world that been created, the characters and the readers.**

**Madea**

Snape had told them that the stuff in the phial, which was an unhealthy looking yellow-orange, would make Hermione sleep at first. "It should slow down the baby's growth. Ideally, that will stop the stress to Hermione's system and permit her to keep the pregnancy for the full nine months."

"And if it doesn't?" Draco fought the urge to twist his robes in his hands like a child. Hermione had smiled and lightly caught his fingers in his a moment. Snape looked at his godson and made himself sound as matter of fact as possible.

"If things continue to worsen, then you'll have choices to make." They'd all understood at once, and Narcissa had gone white. Draco sat taller and took his wife's hand openly. "There's no choice. Hermione is my primary concern."

"Draco' she said 'let's see if this helps first. We don't need to get upset before we know whether it's going to work." He smoothed her hair and supported her neck as she swallowed the contents of the phial. Her eyes rolled back in her head and the phial fell to the floor, where Tibby caught it and handed it back to Snape.

Lucius studied his son. The boy was tucking his wife in, gently plumping the pillows and talking the whole time in a low voice. He felt an enormous sadness for both children, mixed with a respect for both of them that was as disconcerting as it was warming.

Snape snapped his bag shut. "She'll sleep at least twelve hours. I'd suggest someone stay with her the whole time. If no one minds, I should like to get some sleep." No one minded, and Snape walked out, only to find the Goyles standing there.

"How is she, Headmaster?"

"Asleep, for the foreseeable future."

He gave his three former students a look which suggested they needed to go back to their rooms and wait, but Antigone squared her shoulders and said "Mightn't we see her, sir? Even if she isn't awake."

"You may, Madam Goyle, if Draco agrees. But I should like a word with Galten and Gregory."

He took them to the salon closest and closed the doors. "Well?"

The brothers exchanged an incredulous look. "Sir?"

"Come off it. You're both terrible liars, and I happen to know a few things all on my own. Something to do with Fletcher?"

Galten reached in and plucked a single stud from his trouser pocket. Snape studied it, frowning, and closed his eyes for a split second. "These are Weasley's. Look on the back." He flipped it in his hand, and pointed to a tiny hallmark. "Crainova. Romanian made, in other words."

Galten swallowed hard, and Greg blanched. "Then he's dead."

Snape wished he could pad this for his former students. He had a well hidden, match head sized soft spot for his Slytherins, and he would have liked to feed the boys (for in his mind, they would always be scabby eleven year olds who were liable to have a newt or some dung bombs in their pockets) a soothing lie. But being a Slytherin that meant he was strong enough to tell them a painful truth.

"Talk to Lucius, and if he's amenable, show them to Hermione. Kingsley knows you have them?" The elder Goyle nodded, and the younger said almost hopefully 'Maybe we should wait for her to feel better."

Snape shook his head. "That might not be advisable. Perhaps the sooner the better."

He studied Goyle Jr a long moment and watched the comprehension dawn in his eyes. "You can't mean…"

"I never said that. I said it might be better for all of us to do what we can to ease the girl's mind as much as possible, just in case."

Galten's eyes clouded. "I'm glad I convinced White to let me show them to her, then. Those jackasses would've bollixed it up, sure as sure."

"I quite agree, but for God's sake, be gentle."

Greg pressed forward. "Isn't there something we can do, Headmaster? For Hermione?"

"It's out of our hands, Goyle. Perhaps make extra offerings. Other than that, be there for Malfoy. He'll need it." Snape turned and left, wondering exactly what the younger Goyle had asked him. He needed food and a shower and sleep, and then he'd get back to work.

Draco was still sitting beside Hermione when Antigone came in. She called for an elf and ordered water for Narcissa, who still looked pale. "You want to lie down, Madam Malfoy? I can see to supper. Our Nipsy makes a good steak and kidney pie."

Narcissa forced a smile. "Do call me Narcissa, dear. And no, I'm all right. Perhaps you would sit with Hermione while I tend to some other things?"

"Of course." Antigone settled down in the chair and sent Nipsy for her embroidery hoop and silks. Draco watched as the woman carefully threaded the needle and poked it into the fabric. "What is it?"

"The tenth day gown." Antigone kept her head down and started the first rune, which meant luck. She'd chosen the most traditional pattern possible, a chain of symbols that covered most of the skirt in an interlocking chain of protection spells and charms.

"Come off the bed. Custard'll watch her, Draco." Draco carefully slid off and watched as the kneazle re-established herself next to his wife, nestling into her side and kneading the mattress, purring.

"Do you think we'll need it?"

"Yes." Antigone set her hoop on her lap and eyed the boy she'd known since he was six. "Why don't you go and find Greg? Walk might do you some good."

"Hermione-"

"Is asleep. I'll call you."

"Promise?"

"Yes." He left and walked to find his friend, who was sitting in the garden with Teddy on his lap, singing him the song about the widow and the gnome. "Oi, Draco."

"Hello, Greg. Teddy." He sat beside the two of them and kissed the baby when he was handed over. Teddy cooed worriedly; all the big people were sad. He put his arms up to Draco, determined to cuddle it better.

Draco took Teddy and held him, rocking, startled when the baby nuzzled his front and babbled softly."Little fellow can tell something's wrong."

Draco didn't reply to that. "Greg?"

"Hmm?"

"What was Snape saying to you and Galten?"

"Nothing, mate. You all right?"

"No, I'm not bloody well all right! Hermione's sick! She might be dying, for fuck's sake! Don't ask me if I'm all right!" Draco handed the baby, who had started fussing, to Greg and made himself breath deeply. "My apologies, Goyle. That was uncalled for."

Greg jiggled the baby. " 'S'fine. What else is it?"

"We might have to choose. Between them, I mean, if…" He couldn't make himself say it. If he said it, it would be true, and for however long he could keep it in silence, they were safe. He'd felt the baby move under his hand as they rushed above the earth; seen his wife grin as she touched it, blushing with pleasure.

But it was Hermione. He'd risked damnation for her, and would again, if that was what this took. How could he look her in the face and tell her what he'd done, if it came to that? How could he not? Greg clapped a hand to his shoulder.

"We'll help, you know. No matter what you choose."

"Tiggy…she's making the tenth day dress." Draco's face was strained. He looked as though he'd aged years since the conversation had started. He dropped his head into his hands and said, very softly "God help me, how do we tell them this when we find them?"

"The muggles?"

He nodded, head still in his hands. He was glad Fletcher was dead, deep inside. Glad, because now they'd never know he had tried to protect Hermione and this was what had happened. Perhaps his wife wasn't the only one protected by not knowing; having forgot Hermione, they'd never know what an utter failure she'd married.

"Ah, God…" Greg had never seen Draco cry. Even after their fathers had been arrested, Draco had walked around nearly glowing with rage, but never shed a tear. Until the day to leave school had come. He'd got back in the morning from one of his 'walks' seeming calmer than he had in almost a week. Looking back, probably he'd gone to meet Hermione. And now he didn't have that.

Draco's shoulders were heaving, but after a moment, he sat up and wiped his eyes. "Come on, Greg."

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to find a way. Have Tibby get the baby, we can't take him with us." He called for their cloaks, wrote a note to his father and Galten and lent Greg a broom. "Where to, Draco?"

"Great Ayton, to start with. Lead, won't you?" And so he did.

The tomb was already acquiring a disused look, the letters starting to weather. As soon as they touched down, Draco called the crazy elf he'd given Hermione to bring the things they'd need; a brazier, incense, wine and fruit. He lit the coals and dropped a handful of powder on it, filling the air, for a moment, with the smell of expensive incense, the last lingering earthly sweetness of the dead.

Greg opened the bottle of wine and poured it in the bowl and set it down at the base of the tomb. He used the knife provided by the baby-carer elf to slice into the fruit, spilling rich pulp, staining his hands red with blood orange.

They knelt side by side and Draco began to prayers of protection and supplication, asking those helpful dead who would listen to come and hear them, Greg chanting counterpoint to drive off any who would do them harm.

"Crabbe—Vince—I know I haven't seen you for a long while, but I…I wonder…"

Greg gently clapped his friend's back. "Vince'll understand. He'll be right pleased you thought to ask him." And he would, at that. They spent a few moments longer and then Draco rose and gathered the things, as Greg cast a quick spell to see nothing would disturb the offerings.

The wind suddenly picked up, and the first fat drops hit their skin. Keeping silence in the presence of the dead, they mounted and flew back, to figure out their next step.

Though He never said, the Dark Lord had sometimes thought Narcissa might have made a good Death Eater, in her own way. Not loyal, certainly, but she had a reservoir of resolve in her heart, and a measure of steel in her spine, which might have been useful to them.

She was using both now, calmly sipping tea as her sisters stared at one another. They looked terrible, admittedly for radically different reasons, but still. Andromeda, looking thin and sallow, nibbled a chocolate cauldron and stared at a point above Bellatrix's head; Bellatrix, white as a sheet, drank tea and stared distantly into space.

"Andromeda?"

"Trixie?"

"Why have you lost so much weight?"

"I've not lost-"

"Liar. You've lost a stone at least." Andromeda set her cup down with a clink. "Stress, Trixie. There's a lot going on and we're all running ourselves ragged trying to fix everything."

Bellatrix nodded thoughtfully. "Not eating is going to solve all that?"

Andromeda huffed; Trixie had always been good at getting under her skin. Narcissa made herself not react. "Has your headache improved, Bellatrix?"

Trixie shrugged. "I suppose. Make Andromeda eat, won't you?"

"Andromeda's an adult. I can't make her do anything."

Bellatrix gave her baby sister a level stare. "Lying is unfilial, Narcissa. And if you can't, then I will."

Andromeda and Narcissa exchanged looks. "Trixie?"

"You think just because I'm here, I can't do my duty? If this keeps up, Meddie, I'm having the elves send your meals here so I can make sure you eat. I mean it, you'll ruin your health. Everyone knows the Blacks have excellent health."

The other two just stared in shock as the most dangerous Death Eater in Britain handed Andromeda a finger sandwich on a plate. "Soonest begun, Andromeda…" Andromeda ate it, and wondered whether a person could be so mad that they went sane again.

As soon as they'd left, Bellatrix lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, pleased the next step had gone so nicely. And she'd meant everything she'd told her sisters; once they were both removed from the blood traitors they'd surrounded themselves with, they'd be loads better. She would help them understand, and they'd thank her later. Really, they would.

It was getting dark outside. Rain, perhaps? Bellatrix went to the window and sniffed the air. The sky was black above the treeline; if they meant to respond, it would be soon. She threw open the shutters and roughly threw her dress aside, glorying in the cold, wet air on her skin.

Two small points of movement entered her consciousness, grew larger, breached the wards. Draco, then, and his friend. She kept her place, breathing the air, smelling the sweet damp, and when the first bolt of lightning cleaved the sky, she gave a wild scream of pleasure and joy. Her Mark was burning; her salvation would come and she would meet it with gladness.

Another whip crack of lightning and Bellatrix, laughing, felt the blood running down her thighs. She touched it, daubed her Mark and then, summoning her energy, _pushed_. The Marks of every Death Eater in Britain flared with a painful, choking intensity; Draco swerved wildly and nearly fell. As soon as they'd landed, he Apparated to the house, Greg clutching his arm.

"Father! Father!"

Lucius met him in the landing. "Draco? Oh, thank Merlin." He hugged him tightly, and gave Greg a pat."You felt it too, then, Draco?"

"They're close." And they were.

When McNair and the others hit ground, the centaurs were waiting for them, having laid in wait for the wolves to appear. Jugson spun and started firing spells as McNair shielded them, and the Pettigrew rat slipped from his trouser pocket and found a bolt hole in the roots of a gnarled old elm, his wand thrown after by the whirling McNair, and hauled in by the Pettigrew rat.

The fight was brief and not especially intense; the centaurs didn't care about the wars of wizard kind, and fought because they felt honour bound. The only casualty was McNair himself, who took an arrow to the fleshy part of his arm. It hardly even bled. But no one saw the rat rise from the ground and change into a man. Intercepting an owl had worked a treat last time; it did again.

That was later, though.

As soon as the Death Eaters left, the centaurs turned and galloped full speed to the manor, pounding the door to be heard over the rain. No centaur would willingly enter a closed dwelling; it smacked of barns and folds and other emblems of man's hateful dominion.

So the Malfoy men, plus the two Goyles and Snape, found themselves standing under the overhang that covered the steps. The centaurs relayed what had happened. "And thus we defended your lands."

"Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Magorian considered. "We should like to see the young one."

Lucius nodded, wondering how he'd convince Andromeda of that, when Greg said "How is Da?"

"He'll live. Probably. Come in three days time, and bring the youngling." They left without another word, and all of them shrugged. "That was…random."

"They aren't human, Draco, we mustn't expect them to act it."

Wormtail skittered along the rain slicked stone, the message clutched in his sharp little teeth. He used his front paws to find an appropriate aperture, and tucked the thing in it. Then he left, without trying to make contact with Bellatrix at all. He didn't put it past her to try and take him hostage; didn't he have enough problems?

Bellatrix laid on the floor as though she'd fainted. She hadn't; from that angle, she could see what the rat was doing, and look as though she was doing nothing unusual. More or less—perhaps there are advantages to being thought an utter lunatic, she mused as she rested on the floor. After some time had passed and the alarms didn't screech, she rose and made her way to the window, carefully testing the absolute limits of the wards. She slowly, slowly felt for the return message. It was wedged deeply, and she was reduced to thrusting a finger in and leveraging it out. Then she laid down again, having read it and memorized the contents as best she could.

Putting her mind to the next part of her task, she soon fell asleep, and was quite correct; no one noticed the mad woman lying on the floor, with a bit of filthy, stained rag in her hand. The poor elf deputed to look after her dropped it into her chamber pot and vowed never to think of it again.

When Bellatrix woke, she rose, combed her hair, dressed, and demanded Lucius come at once. When he eventually appeared, face a mask of dislike, Bellatrix adopted her best tone of patrician disdain. "I have decided to make a statement, brother in law. Be a good boy and call the aurors for me, would you?"

"Which aurors would my lady like?" Lucius wished it weren't common to slap a woman, else he'd have hit her until she was spotted like a boomslang. Bellatrix smiled dementedly.

"Noisome, from Buxton. I want to speak to Noisome."

Lucius' eyebrow rose a fraction. "And what shall I tell them is the purpose, Trixie?"

"There was a raid there in…October? Perhaps they'd like the details." She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acting eager. Lucius stepped back. "I'll see what I can do."

In Wales, the werewolves of Greyback's band laughed as three identical Patrocles Noisomes' pranced and burlesqued for their amusement. The first one did a headstand while singing a song called 'A witch does a gathering bats ears go', making the older people blush and chuckle. The second upped the ante by tugging the waistband of his trousers away from himself, and sighed in mock sympathy for Noisome's wife. The third went even farther, and likely all three would've had their fill of pretty females by night's end (Noisome's puny endowment notwithstanding) had Greyback not stalked from the cave and ordered them to Apparate to Buxton to wait until they were needed. They did it, and when the owl came, they intercepted it, easy as falling off a broom.

The first Noisome reported the details back, and was debriefed thoroughly. He was expected at precisely nine AM, he was reminded. Not a minute later. He settled down to wait, and the dancing and frolic started, though Greyback was not there to enjoy it.

He'd been called to a cul de sac in a small town in Dorset. McNair was dying; the centaur's arrow had hit the mark, after all. When he arrived, McNair was gasping for air, face blue. The others had clustered around like vultures.

"What happened?"

Rodolphus delicately held up the arrow, which was smeared with some black substance. "Powered Eris root, mixed with something corrosive. It's poisoned him."

"I can see that." Greyback looked at the man a long moment and, bending, found the spot he was looking for. He sank his teeth in and ripped, shaking his head side to side like a dog with a bit of grisly meat, and McNair, gurgling, convulsed, shuddered, and died.

Greyback turned his blood lathered face to the spectators, now frozen in shock. "Anything else?"

"You—you-"

Greyback lapped the blood from his hands. "Looks like you're in charge now, Lestrange."

Rodolphus recovered himself remarkably quickly, given what he had just seen. "Quite."

Greyback hefted the bundle, bedclothes and all, onto his shoulder. "Burn anything he touched. I'll be in contact." He Apparated, leaving the remains of the Death Eaters to wonder what had just happened.

The others clustered about him when he returned, scenting blood. He let the bundle drop to the ground. "I've fixed us some dinner." Wolf stomachs are tougher than human stomachs; they ate well that night.

In the basement, Snape reached slowly for the book. The touch didn't make him nauseous anymore; quite the contrary, it was…comforting. Familiar. He opened it and started to read, desperate, trying not to stay longer than he needed. To want to stay. He had a mental image of Tobias and his endless bottles of gin and sneered. That wasn't him.

Dark magic could do awful things. Snape had seen limbs fused, eyes burnt out, faces vanished. But so far as he knew, Dark magic couldn't force someone to hit a child in anger. That was the thing he'd sworn never to do, and for all his Slytherins knew the penalty for misbehavior could be expected to include a trip across Professor Snape's lap, never once, in sixteen years, had he punished a child with less than total control and a scrupulous sense of how much was enough.

His eyes skimmed the page. The paper felt silky and smooth under his fingertips. Like Bellatrix's skin that night, wasn't it, when she was still saner than not, and they'd laid under a Mark scarred sky together, and gone three times? Yes, like that. It had an appeal that was almost erotic. It could make the bad memories fade…

He had an erection. Slamming the book, hard, he Flooed to his rooms and showered furiously, wiping the iron taint from his skin. Dressed in a borrowed nightshirt, he called for a sleeping draught and went to sleep, ignoring everything except the little voice that repeated, like a metronome "You must not fall".


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Love to reviewers.**

**And Countess Black, who's always patient with me, and controls the plot bunnies for me when they need it. [_Which is never. Madea just wants her way all the time. DM_]**

**I've always objected on principal to authors who pimp their own work aggresively; not everyone has the inclination to spend tons of extra time on entertainment (admittedly, if paying my rent depended on people reading, I'd probably be a lot less sanctimonious about this sort of thing). **

**That said, I'm officially recommending that readers at least skim the Silence-verse stuff that's in my profile, as there's a lot of things which might make it easier to understand some of what's going on. Except the stuff that's blatantly humourous; that's just for fun.**

** I recognise that the story is getting super complex; I swear, it'll all come together. And that Draco will write the next A/N, because he's throwing a fit about it as we speak. [_Am not. Malfoys never throw fits]. _**

**Madea, totally unconvinced by Draco-logic.**

**Post script: _What? It's true. Ask anyone. Except Madea._**

Harry Potter grimaced as he poured more tea into Ron's cup. "Because it's ten thirty in the morning and we aren't having a repeat of last time."

"Course not. Think Kreacher'd get us something to eat?" Kreacher appeared on hearing his name, frowning. He liked Miss well enough, but Wheezy made him tetchy. He bowed, every movement showing sourness and dislike, and went to find food, and determine how to spit in only what Wheezy would be eating.

"Every time I see him, he looks mankier. Can't you make him retire?"

"Hsst!' Harry's eyes darted back and forth. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll want me to behead him and put him on the wall." Harry dreaded that day. He liked Kreacher, and even if he hadn't, he couldn't find it in himself to add to the collection of heads which decorated the wall.

Kreacher brought back a platter of biscuits and set them down. "The sugar is being Master, the oatmeal is being Wheezy." Harry eyed the elf askance. "Is there something I should know, Kreacher?"

"Nothing, Master." Harry reached slowly for an oatmeal biscuit and made as though to eat it. Kreacher gasped. "Master, no!"

Harry nodded and put the biscuit down. "That'll be all, Kreacher."

An elf popped into the room and bowed so low it's long ears dragged. "Tibby?"

"Harry Potter sir! Ron Wheezy sir! You is remembering Tibby!"

"We spent weeks living in a tent with you, do you think we're goldfish?"

"Goldfish? No, sirs is wizards." Tibby looked ready to bawl, so Harry said quickly "Something wrong, Tibby?"

"Young Master Draco is asking to be coming and visiting. It is being all right?"

"Tell him to come, Tibby, we're just having a little tea."

Malfoy came through two minutes later. Ron thought he looked like a man with a bad hangover. His always perfect hair was uncombed, and he was grey faced. "Hello, all." He hadn't worn a cloak, even, and he was shivering, though Harry wondered suddenly if it wasn't less the sudden coming of the cold which had enveloped Britain in the last few weeks, the final strains of what wizards called the Hag Summer dying quietly. Perhaps that was a bad metaphor, he thought for no reason at all.

"Malfoy."

"Draco. How have you been?"

Malfoy sat down without being asked and said, with no preamble "Hermione's in a bad way. Thought you'd want to know."

"Bloody hell! What's happened?"

Malfoy outlined the past few days emotionlessly, staring at his hands. Kreacher appeared and handed him a cup of tea, which he drank without a word. "And so here we are."

Ron watched the blond prat, his childhood bully, the man who'd married the girl he loved. The man who'd raged at St. Mungo's, and who was telling them, in his snotty, Pureblood, Malfoy way that Hermione was badly off, that Hermione might die, and felt the bit of perspective he'd gained from that talk with his Dad, the sympathy he'd felt at watching him in the hospital, go a bit deeper.

"Malfoy? Why don't you ask Andromeda if she'd like us to take Teddy? Mum would be thrilled, she loves babies. Maybe it'd be easier if the adults didn't have to worry about him, too."

"That's…decent of you, Weasley. Let me ask her. She'll probably say no, but we appreciate the thought."

"Is there any way we could come and see her?"

"Once she wakes up. She's still asleep right now. Snape said it would be at least twelve hours and it's been more than double that."

"And Bella still won't say?"

Draco got a look on his face that neither of them could quite quantify. "Oh, she'll say one of these days."

"What makes you so sure?"

Malfoy stood, shook their hands. "We'll be in touch. Remember us to your parents, Weasley."

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy smiled. "She taught me everything I know about persuading people, Weasley. _Everything_." And with that he was gone, and they sat in silence. Harry finally vanished the food. "Kreacher did something to it."

Ron would have said something, but he found his eyes were stinging. "Hermione can't die."

Harry nodded, eyes suspiciously bright as well. "She'll be all right, Ron."

"She's the only one who makes any of the Malfoys bearable. She has got to get better."

They both laughed a little, and sat in the cold late autumn sunlight, and were afraid.

Draco wasn't the only one who'd embraced the consolation of belief in the face of what was rapidly becoming a very bad situation. Narcissa donned a heavy cloak and slipped quietly down to the family tombs, holding her offerings in her hand.

She went through the ritual, knelt by the newest vault and smiled.

"Drusilla? Love? It's Mother. I've brought you something." She pulled a ribbon from her pocket and held it up. "Isn't it nice? Aunt Andromeda found it for me." She fed the ribbon into the flames, knowing—hoping—her daughter would like it.

She sat on the benches, carved into the walls for that purpose, and let her head rest against the marble slab on which was carved her daughter's name and the date, the single day she'd drawn breath. "Precious, I know Father came and asked you to watch Hermione for us, and you've done a wonderful job, really you have. She does get into trouble, doesn't she?" Narcissa smiled a little.

"When you…left us…I thought it was the worst thing that could have happened. Your father shrived you, and I thought, watching them put you in that coffin was the worst thing I could possibly see. But I've thought about it, and…at least we…had that time together, didn't we?"

She inhaled deeply and continued. "I miss you so much, darling. Every day. And when I think that Hermione might not get even that little bit of time with her baby, I…and poor Draco. If there's a way, he'll find it, but…perhaps there isn't a way."

Footsteps. "Cissy? Narcissa?" Narcissa stood and faced her husband. "Hello, darling."

Lucius smiled tiredly. "Still sleeping, before you ask. And Draco as well. I had to threaten to petrify him to get him to lie down."

Narcissa nodded. "Would you prefer I leave? For privacy's sake?"

"No. I want you both, for the moment." Lucius bent, blessed the flowers he'd brought, and put them near the brazier. "She was a beautiful baby, wasn't she?"

"Yes. Looked like your mother." They stood together in silence, and Lucius prayed for his parents to help their great grandchild, blood status be damned.

"I am so angry with Bellatrix, I could scream."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Has she done something?"

"She could end this. She won't."

"My first clue was when she taunted Andromeda about her daughter, as to that." Lucius understood how his wife felt; a powerful anger suffused him whenever he considered what had been done. "But the girl is dead and past all hurt. Hermione is not. Draco is not."

Narcissa looked away. "I'm aware, Lucius. I was telling Drusilla…I'd do anything to keep this from hurting them. Anything."

He put his arms around her. "We're lucky, you know, in those two. They' ve both held up far better than we had any right to expect."

"Of course we are. And lucky for the Goyles, too."

Lucius privately thought the two hundred galleons he'd paid Galvin Goyle to take Polybus Mallow's plain, blood tainted daughter off the hands of the former, were some of the best he'd ever spent. They were thoroughly decent people, all of them, and quite serious when it came to Hermione, as well.

"They're with her right now?"

Narcissa nodded. "Antigone's gone to Xanthippe Parkinson's for something. Galten is with Hermione, and Draco and Greg are there as well."

Lucius nodded and took his wife's hand to lead her from the land of the dead to the land of the living.

The air stirred, and the flames of the brazier leapt for a moment. The room was awash with vague shapes, as the dead, called to life by the prayers of the living, come to get their gifts. Having enjoyed the treats their descendants left, the spirits got down to business, finding a way to help their mortal relatives. That they would was of no particular debate to any of them; mudblood or pureblood, living or dead, family is family and duty reigns over us all.

Upstairs, Hermione slept on in the bed. Her sleep thus far had been dreamless, a formless collection of shapes and colours, shreds of memories and perceptions, but now it changed. She found herself in a small, neat house, with a small, neat woman in a cardigan.

"Nan!" She half threw herself, and the woman laughed and hugged her back. "Poppet!"

"It's been ages! Are you…aren't you dead?"

The woman smiled and motioned to one of the soft, deep armchairs Hermione had always loved. "Of course I am, but really, love, it's not been ages. I watch you quite a lot."

Hermione blushed and her grandmother laughed aloud. "Not like that! He's quite a nice looking boy, though, isn't he, with all that fair hair? Bit thin, but he'll fatten up."

Hermione blinked as tea materialised on the table between them. "We're not well, Nan."

"No. Shame, about his aunt. She might have been a very nice person, had she chosen differently." Nan looked sad; she'd been a teacher, and knew something about the way teenage impulsivity could ruin a life. "But we're all so proud of the rest of you. Cygnus can't stop bragging about the way his two girls are holding up." Nan's smile belied her complaint, and she poured Hermione a steaming cup of oolong.

"Nan? Are Mum and Dad…"

Nan cupped her face. "No, darling. I can't do anything which would directly influence events. But they would be very proud, too."

Hermione sipped her tea. "I wish you could meet Draco. He's wonderful."

Nan laughed. "He thinks you've hung the moon, you know."

"He's the one I worry about. If anything should happen…"

"That's why I'm here, poppet. To tell you we're doing all we can, but…the Mask is slipping. Fast, now. He's angry she's left…he wants both. It's burning in his blood."

Hermione meant to open her mouth to answer but opened her eyes instead, jerking a bit when she found she was face to face with Tibby. "Young Madam is being awake!"

"Hello, Tibby." She turned her head and found Galten looking at her. "Hello."

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Twenty seven hours. Draco's on the settee, if you want me to wake him."

"No, let him sleep. Have you been here the whole time?" Galten shook his head. "We took turns. I need to call Snape."

She sent Tibby, and the man came in a span that suggested he'd been close, trailed by the elder Malfoys and Andromeda. He took Hermione's pulse, asked a number of questions, and sagged with relief. Very slightly, but it was there.

"Your pulse is normal. I think it advisable to call in the mid-witch, just to be sure, but…"

The commotion woke Custard, who rose and nudged Draco sharply with her paw. He sat and carried the kneazle to Galten, the better to embrace Hermione. "Darling, are you better?"

"It would seem so, Draco, though squashing her like a child holding a kitten won't help. Lucius, shall I send an elf?"

Hermione hugged her husband back, hard. "Will they come to us?"

Draco through back his head. "We're Malfoys, of course they will." Or I'll drag the cow here by the hair, he thought. Luckily there was no need, as she appeared a moment later, carrying a black doctor's bag and looking, to say the least, huffy.

"You used an untested draught on my patient, and now you tell me?" She pulled out her things, muttering loudly about the nerve of certain Potions Masters who ought have sense knocked into them by stampeding hippogriffs.

Ten minutes later, she sourly set down her things. "Madam Malfoy, I hate to admit it, but Professor—Potions Master- Snape's draught seems to have been effective. All the same, I think it advisable you stay on bed rest for the foreseeable future."

Hermione groaned but quickly agreed. "What do I do?"

"I'll want you on your side or back only. Pillow between the knees on your side and propped under you on your back, we want your legs elevated. My elf will show you some exercises to help you keep your muscles working."

"What about bathing?"

The mid-witch sat in the chair that had been vacated by Antigone. "Call your maid and I'll speak with it about that. And it's very important to keep stimulated, so it would be best to have a family member nearby, and a supply of books or whatever you like to do."

Narcissa nibbled her lip lightly. "What about food?"

"The usual diet, lots of fruit and other cooling foods to stop the choler from returning. Infusions of oil of violets and loomwort, of course, and frequent massage to keep swelling down.' The woman suddenly smiled and reached a finger to Custard, who'd taken her rightful place on the bed again. "The kneazle is a wonderful idea. She'll keep your spirits up."

"Should the eggs be tenth eggs, or will regular do?"

"Regular is fine. No more than two position changes a day. I'll give your elf the recipe for something to make you sleep." She talked a long while to Tibby and Leesy, sometimes dropping her voice to emphasis a point Hermione might not want to be common knowledge. Draco stood and, making his way to the woman, murmured something in her ear.

She laughed and whispered something back, which made him grin broadly. "But only that, understand?"

"Yes, Healer Phillips, I do." He tipped Hermione a wink. She blushed bright red, and everyone laughed. Greg laughed too, though he wasn't precisely sure what was funny. Draco had done something to Hermione to give her the baby, of course, but exactly what was a mystery. Still, even Mr. Malfoy was laughing, and he didn't think things were funny very much.

Greg still found Draco's Da sort of intimidating. His own Da bellowed and scolded and cursed, but he was the first to offer a hug or a joke if someone was sad. Lucius Malfoy was sort of quiet, and …not cold, but Greg couldn't image seeing him playfully smack Draco's Mam's arse as he went by, or singing a song that made Tiggy blush to her hairline.

And anyway, there was nothing to be worried about. The mid-witch said Snape's draught had made Hermione better, and Greg believed it, too. He had kept Draco from being killed for not having done for Dumbledore, he'd stopped the bleeding that day, and he was a spy. And Galten and Tiggy were there; how could anything happen to Hermione when she was surrounded by so many people who could do so much?

All the same, he'd go see Da. Da would want to know what was happening, and once he was better, he'd have some ideas on how to help. He rose and spoke quietly to Galten, who gave approval and smiled at his younger brother, whom he loved more than he could have ever told anyone.

"There's a good boy, Greg. See to Alecto as well." Greg nodded and, having taken the cloak the damned loony house elf pressed on him, he asked the thing to Apparate him to the Park and it did. From there he could Apparate himself, and he did. The elf came behind, bringing the baby as asked. Teddy gurgled and cooed, waving his fists with glee.

Da was awake. White as a sheet, he was sitting propped against a log, sipping tisane as Alecto dozed. The cave the centaurs had put them in was, to Greg's surprise, snug as a rat in a hat. He had to crawl in the mouth, but once in, he found himself luxuriating in the warmth of a small fire.

Greg handed the baby to Magorian, who promptly began bouncing him as the others crowded around to get their turn, warming him with their fur. Teddy, rugged like a little yeti in warm flannels, cooed with delight.

"Ay up, Greg."

"Ay up, Da. Feeling better?"

"Much. How's things in the house?"

Greg summarised what had happened. "So she'll be all right for at least a while, and Custard's safe as houses."

Galten smiled broadly. Still weak, he tried to lift his hand to ruffle the boy's hair and found he couldn't. "And Galten and Tiggy are there as well?"

"Tiggy went to the Parkinsons' for something, I think to do with the tenth day gown."

Galvin nodded. "Can't get blood from a turnip, I always say."

Greg nodded and sat beside his father. "Da?"

"Hm?"

"Is what Draco did to give Hermione the baby what's making her sick?"

"No. It was the spell, most likely. What's she like? The mudblood, I mean."

"Nice. Custard loves her. And she sicked up on an auror." Galvin laughed as Greg recounted it as it had been told to him. "And so they came here, with you there the whole ruddy time under the bloke's nose!"

"Right clever girl, then. But she's not…dirty, or something, yes? Got good manners?"

"Not more than anyone else. And she acts about like Tiggy, I guess." Greg's brow furrowed and he screwed up his courage. "How did Draco give her the baby? He says they sleep in the same bed, but that can't be it. Is it?"

Galvin wondered for a second if he could fake a relapse to keep from answering. "Well, lad, you see…' Galvin got a wonderful idea. 'Know who you should ask? Snape, him being a teacher and all. He can explain it."

Greg nodded. "Makes sense. We showed him the stud and he said it's Fletcher's."

"Does the mudblood know?"

Greg shook his head. "She's too sick. Snape says Galten has to tell her soon."

Galvin's face changed slightly. "He say why?"

"Says we have to do everything we can to ease her mind. And since her muggle Da'd want to tell her, rather than letting some stranger do it, Galten's going to."

Galvin swallowed. "Poor chit. Wish it were that bastard Lestrange or McNair or someone had to tell her."

Greg's eyes widened. "But they'd only make it worse."

Galvin summoned the energy to put a hand to his son's shoulder. "Yeah. But it makes me see red, them getting off with what they did and not having to tell the poor little thing themselves. Least they should have to do…" He scowled, and imagined what he'd do when they found his former colleagues.

"Just as well. Bellatrix is bad enough." Galvin nodded and then gave his son a sharp look. "You've not gone up there?"

"Only with Galten and Mr. Malfoy, or Galten and Snape."

"And they've not let her go?"

"Never alone. Bellatrix…she plays with her food, doesn't she, Da?"

Galvin nodded, stark faced. "Just you see she's kept away from the others ladies as much as possible. Bad enough she talked to them even once or twice." Galvin liked Narcissa Malfoy, and he loved Tiggy like his very own, and even Draco's wife, through her association with his children. Galvin, God knew, had done his fair share, but Bella…Bella was barely human anymore.

One of the centaurs trotted over. "Your sire needs rest." He handed Teddy back and even smiled. "A good youngling. How is the female who is expecting a youngling herself?"

Greg bounced Teddy. "She was poorly, but she ought to be much better soon." Greg called the elf and, giving up the baby and saying his goodbyes, Apparated to the front door and met with Antigone, who looked angry enough to spit.

Her aunt had done her best to distant herself from her sister and everything associated with it the second the madness started to show; but Antigone had expected better than this, at least.

She'd gone to ask whether her aunt had some things which had been her mother's; clothes she could use to make the baby's gowns, perhaps some trim or something like that. Da had to have done something with it, and Xanthippe was as likely a receptacle as anyone, she supposed.

Having been bowed into a parlour by the twitchiest elf she'd ever seen, she was greeted by the Parkinson ladies, reclining on a divan swathed in black. "For poor Blaise, you know."

"Wonder if you'd have any of Mam's things, Auntie?"

Xanthippe wrinkled her nose. "Indeed, I shouldn't think so. Let me talk to Mr. Parkinson and see what he says."

Antigone rose stiffly. "My thanks. Is Polynices better?"

"We've sent him to St. Mungo's, actually. To rest, you understand." Antigone nodded. "I'll be sure and visit him, then."

Xanthippe's smile never faltered. "Oh, dear, that might not be the best idea. You've so much…excitement…in your life now, it would be wholly too much."

Antigone's face was going pink. "I'm quite adept at being with people who—need to rest."

"Yes, and we see how that went, don't we?"

Antigone left without a word. Xanthippe felt a sort of vague misfortune. Antigone was her niece, after all. But it would ruin poor Pansy's chances to be associating with ruined goods, and it wasn't as though Antigone had much to offer them, now was it?

Antigone didn't say any of that. "The usual, Greg. How's Father?"

"All right." He hugged Tiggy hard. "You don't need 'em anyway, Tiggy."

"I know, pet. Let's go and find your brother, shall we?"

The first false Noisome came to visit Bellatrix exactly on time. He was called Bent-tail, and he wanted very much to succeed for the Cause. Snape was there as well, which made him nervous. Bellatrix giggled and made a shooing gesture at Snape.

"Run along, Sevvy. I'll talk to Noisome here alone."

Snape cocked his head, preparing to reply, when an elf appeared to whisper discreetly in his ear. He turned and left, and the false Noisome breathed a sigh of relief. "Never did like the manky git."

"No one does. Have you something for me from Greyback?"

"It'll be some time before you'll be able to help directly, Madam. The alpha says you were His most faithful, and asks you to show your faith now."

" I don't want my sisters hurt. Make sure he understands that."

"I will. We're preparing to launch the first part of the mission. I'll let you know in a week's time what happened."

She nodded. A headache had been plaguing her all day. "Is there some way for us to set up communication? Wormtail will get nicked by a hawk one of these days."

The fake auror frowned. "Let us give that thought. How've you been using your Mark?"

Bellatrix haughtily sat up straight. "I was not His most faithful due to good looks, wolf. I am a true Pureblood, and thus a powerful witch."

When Bent-tail cum Noisome said nothing, Bellatrix threw her hands in the air. "Wandless magic, idiot."

"Both times? It might have killed you."

"Of course not both, it would have weakened me far too much. I used my blood the second time as a conduit." She didn't mention the headache, which was surely a result of too much effort in that direction.

He was about to ask why they'd not noticed she was injured, and then remembered that she was a woman. He tried not to gag and changed the subject at once.

"McNair is dead. The centaurs got him."

"Rodolphus is leading them, then?"

"Yes. He sends you his fondest regards."

Bellatrix laughed. "Wager he does, at that. Tell him I said 'hello', won't you?"

Benttail nodded and rose to go. He held out the false confession he'd drawn up and swished to fill in a few relevant details she'd fed him to make it seem like something had happened. He handed Bellatrix a self inking quill and she sighed, showing her Mark flirtatiously as she did.

The false Noisome made his way out, bowed to Greg, whom he'd happened to have encountered, and left to Floo back, having indicated via note that he'd return at the same time the next week 'to continue debriefing the suspect as to knowledge of this heinous crime'.

The weather continued to cool. As the inhabitants of Malfoy manor settled down for a quiet night, fat flakes drifted from the sky. Everyone was too distracted by Custard's strange behavior to notice.

"It's because she's close' said Galten, watching as the kneazle sniffed at the stairs and hissed at nothing, ears flattened. "It's making her nervous, is all." The kneazle would have told him about Something Bad, if she could. Instead, she began gathering soft things in her denning place, under the divan in her new chambers' sitting room. She was very near now; she felt it.

And in Buxton, Patrocles Noisome was snoring, happy and mustache- less, beside Polyxena from Magical Zoning. And the snow fell on, covering the houses and the people inside them in a soft, shifting mantle of white.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:**

**To clarify: I do NOT throw fits. I just suggested Madea stop hogging the writing machine so I might have a turn. That shoe flew through the air of it's own volition.**

**Anyway, our darling Countess Black was helpful as usual. She stopped that awful muggle girl from picking on me, at least.**

**Please write me a note, I'm being tortured mercilessly day and night.**

**Draco**

Custard groaned. Panting, the kneazle groaned softly and Galten, stroking her head, murmured encouragement. Nipsy squatted down and helped the first kitten make it's way into the world. Custard heaved herself up and chewed the sac off of her kit, gnawed the cord through and set to washing the little mewling ball of fluff

Hermione beamed and squeezed Draco's hand. "Isn't it exciting?"

Green faced, Draco made himself nod. "Glorious. Is this what it will look like when you have the baby?"

Hermione laughed. "Draco! I can't bend like that." He got greener and she whispered a suggestion in his ear. "l'm fine. Will there be much blood, would you say?"

Galten snorted. "Lad, when the time comes Nature'll take her course, just as she did with Custard here. Didn't she, darlin'?"

Custard yowled and Nipsy guided the second kit onto the bed. Within a moment, it had joined it's sibling at her stomach, blind and quivering. A third push and the last kit was born and seen to. Galten and Antigone both slumped back, and Greg, who'd been waiting to go and tell Da, was quickly Apparated by a beaming Leesy.

"Three! Imagine the luck!" Galten nodded and gave his wife a squeeze. The spectre of poverty had been too close to them lately; the kittens meant wood for the fires and candles and food and new clothing. They meant Greg and Milly could marry soon, and Da, once he was well, could hire an advocate to plead his case before the Wizengamot.

"Congratulations!" Hermione couldn't move much, but she could smile, and she did. Custard put her head back against Hermione's stomach and felt the Big Kit inside move. She wondered when the female would be making her own den, and hoped she'd been paying attention when Custard had carefully gathered her own materials.

"I'm surprised she did it here. Didn't she make a nest under the divan?"

Galten nodded and scratched the kneazle's soft throat. "She did, but kneazles are smart. She knows her odds are better with us helping her. The den is just for if she feels threatened. What we want is to see she doesn't, because that'll make our job harder."

Draco, whose stomach felt much better, helped to vanish the soiled towels and pads. "That's bloody wonderful, but why did it have to be my side?" They all laughed. Hermione could feel Custard's purring against her side, and the soft little motions as the kits swam against the bed, totally helpless.

Draco nodded. "Is it all right if I take a picture tomorrow?"

Antigone smiled. "Would you? Save us a trip." She turned and gave Hermione a hard look. "Are your legs swelling?"

"No, Antigone."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all." Antigone cooed softly at the little balls of fur. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"It's hard to picture my Crookshanks this size."

"They get big quickly. Just like children." Antigone smiled a little and shook her head. "Ah, well. Do you have something from your muggle parents I could use for the tenth day gown? A ribbon or some buttons?" She didn't know precisely what muggle clothing looked like, but given how some of the halfbloods she saw hanging about Diagon Alley dressed, she imagined that would be the only usable part.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in thought. "There might be something in the attic of the house in Darlington."

"I have an errand to run. I'll call for Madam Tonks, all right?" Andromeda have come, Antigone draped herself in a cloak and prepared to set off. "Going to see Polynices, Tigs?"

"Yeah, Galten. Need anything while I'm out?" He shook his head. "Taking Nipsy?"

"Course I am. What about Father and Greg? Snape?" Being as he was single, and head of Slytherin, Antigone had quite taken over fussing at Snape about things, when Narcissa was too busy.

Galten looked around and kissed her wife lightly. "We'll be fine. Tell Polynices hello for all of us." She took up her selkie muff and was gone in a flash of threadbare wool and tattered grayish fur.

Greg, having told Alecto since Da was asleep, decided to move onto part two of his mission. Snape was sitting in his rooms when the elf announced young Master Gregory was outside, and would Master Snape see him?

"Mr. Goyle. How may I help you?"

"Headmaster, I asked Da something and he said to tell you, you being a teacher and all."

"I see. What did you wish to ask?"

Goyle looked solemn, almost studious. "How did Draco give Hermione the baby? Da says it's not making her sick, but…I won't make Milly sick, will I?" Greg was worried about the last, worried a lot. Snape did a funny thing in response: he looked up at the ceiling and said clearly "Albus, damn you, this is emphatically not funny."

"Sir?"

"Well you see, Goyle…" Severus Snape might not have been, in many ways, a very good teacher of Potions. But he knew his duty. And he knew where Galvin Goyle slept, and so as he explained the facts to life to his erstwhile student, he was plotting suitable revenge. And knew, deep in his heart, that somewhere Albus was laughing until he cried.

The apprentice healer on desk duty looked up to see a large woman swathed in black, along with a house elf that looked ready to die of old age as they waited, looking at him. "Madam?"

"Polynices Parkinson?"

"Room 326." She nodded her thanks and walked down the corridor, which was heavily silenced against the noises the various inhabitants made. She knocked on the door and slid it open. Polynices was sitting in the chair by the window. There was no trace of the strong young Death Eater he'd been; he looked old and tired. His hair, once the Parkinson black, was shot with grey.

"Polynices? Do you remember me?"

He smiled tiredly. "Antigone. Cousin Antigone's come to visit." He made as though to rise from his chair and she shook her head. "No, it's all right. How are you?"

"Tired, Tiggy. I was sorry about Uncle Polybus. Is that why you're here?"

"No, just wanted to see if you need anything. I brought you some biscuits." He smiled again and took one. "I can't remember it, you know. Only darkness…a flash of light…green light…and the Mask fell away."

"What Mask, Polynices?"

He chewed meditatively. " I can't remember. It was so dark. I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"No. Hugged Snape. That count, Pol?" They both laughed. Polynices took another biscuit. "I'll die here, you know."

"No, you won't. Once you feel better, they'll take you home."

His eyes stared a long way off. "Better like this. I wouldn't…we can go only so far and stay sane." He took her hand in his, and his grip was like iron. "I think…maybe…it was so dark." He dropped his head and began to cry, and the orderlies came and forced a potion down his throat.

"Perhaps come another day, Madam?" Antigone left the hospital, trailing her elf. "It is being all right, Madam. He is being better soon."

Antigone saw a familiar mustache, and noticed the idiot auror from their cross country flight. She meant to sneak away but he turned, and looked directly at her with a slightly addled expression. He jumped with shock, and then tried to make it look like a normal thing to be doing, which failed miserably.

"Are you all right?"

He jerked at her voice. "Ah, yes, quite. May I help you, Madam…?"

"Goyle. Galten Goyle. We've met."

"Of course. Were you visiting someone?"

"Yes." She pulled her cloak tighter. "You?"

He jerked again. "Ahhh…yes. My…Grandmum." That sounded plausible, certainly. The woman nodded and stepped back. "Godd day, then." She Apparated, ancient elf following behind. The false Noissome, sent to scout the Ministry again, smiled to himself and went to tell Fen his great idea.

The Ministry had been an abject failure. One of the false Noisomes had been sent to attempt entry a day after Bellatrix's 'interview'. He (she, as this one was female) quietly spent a day testing the wards, wandering carefully here and there. Having taken off shortly before close, and having eaten a wizard style meal in a tavern (why must humans char their food to leather in order to think it worth eating? Disgusting.) carefully made her way back to the Ministry.

The Shacklebolt regime had learnt something from the failures of previous Ministers. Specifically, that while Ministry employees might need to be able to gain free access, there was no reason for them to able to get out again without help.

So when the false Noisome had snooped about satisfactorily, s/he promptly discovered that there was no way out again. She'd need to summon an auror, which would quite defeat the purpose of the exercise. So s/he found an alcove, and waited until the first workers appeared. The Polyjuice having worn off long since, she streaked by and rushed into the street to Apparate.

And the janitor, who was seventy nine and had very few naked, nubile girls rushing anywhere near him these days, quietly took a long nip from the flask in his hip pocket. "No one'd believe me anyway' he thought, and worked that day with the lightest heart he'd had in twenty five years at least.

Greyback whooped with glee when the third false Noisome suggested a new plan. He'd sent the oaf to scout the Ministry again, but this…this was…"Good, boy." The next day they'd send someone, dressed in regular clothes, to request the layout, and then they'd be able to begin. Mind spinning, Greyback sat back and called his top lieutenants, so they could brief the hoard that waited, restive and humming, below them, spread across the woods around their fires like moths.

Goyle hadn't blinked. "And you mean to tell me that everybody does this?"

"More or less."

He rose without another word, bowed politely and got as far from Snape as he could. "Draco! Oi, Draco!"

"Something wrong, Greg?"

"Snape's off his nut, is what's wrong!"

"What do you mean?" Draco sat down and watched as Greg quickly closed the doors and silenced the sitting room. "He told me the most awful things…" Draco sat forward. "Like what, Greg?"

"He said married people sometimes…it's not true, is it, that I have to' he dropped his voice to keep Grandmother from hearing 'is it? And that all married people…"

Draco sat in silence for a second. "No, that's how one does that."

"What?" Goyle looked ready to cry, so Draco said, as helpfully as possible 'Snape's the one who told me, too, so if I'm doing it wrong, so is he."

"Snape's not married."

"Doesn't mean he's never done that."

Greg looked affronted. "He said only married people."

"He didn't say they had to be married to one another, did he?" Draco shuddered and wished for some whiskey to wipe the memory of Snape's inferences about Trixie aside.

"Who else would he…Trelawney, maybe? She's a widow."

"I shouldn't think so, Greg. He once made a comment about someone, but it was too disgusting for words."

Greg's eyes widened. "McGonagall? He and McGonagall did that together?"

"Worse. He and Trixie."

"Blimey, that's horrible!" They both shuddered. Greg couldn't believe that Draco had ever done such a thing, especially to his wife. Did this mean Galten and Tiggy…Da and Mam, even…He stopped that line of thought right there.

"Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think Milly will want to do that with me?"

"Of course she will, Greg. She likes you."

"Is that enough?" Draco thought about his own first time, and grimaced as he recalled the cirmcumstances. His poor little girl, her heart had beaten like a mouse's, hadn't it? And he'd always been afraid, after, that the Dark Lord would find it, and see how they'd lain together after and been quiet, and profane it with His mind and His questions and His cold, cold voice.

"The thing is, Greg…"

As Draco was scarring Greg, Hermione was relaxing with Custard. Tibby stood by Hermione's pillow and watched as well, careful to see she didn't do too much. "Tibby?"

"Young Madam?"

"Were you there when Draco was born?"

Tibby smiled. "We is. We is being first to hold him. He was being very small baby, with whole head of blond curls."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the image. "Was he a good baby?"

"He was. Always being laughing." The elf knew precisely where this was leading and patiently waited for the inevitable. "Will there be much pain, do you think?"

Tibby tugged the covers higher. "We is not knowing, young Madam." She couldn't bear to tell her that the answer was almost certainly yes. Young Madam's hips were small, and her pelvis very narrow. Tibby worried the labour would be back labour, and that young Madam wouldn't be able to stand the pain.

"Have you ever known of a woman to, to die, Tibby?"

"Yes, young Madam. Miss Lavinia died that way." Tibby wanted to punch herself, to bang her head. Anything but continue this conversation. It hurt to relive those awful last moments, and young Madam was clammy with dread.

"And the baby?"

"It was being born dead." A tear slid down Tibby's cheek. All that, and nothing to show for it. She'd done her duty to the end, staying near until Miss Lavinia had been put in the family tomb in Mulciber manor, wailing and ripping her towel in grief.

"I'm sorry, Tibby. I never meant to upset you."

"Is long time ago, young Madam. Fifty seven years." Tibby shook her head to clear it. It was the curse of the house elf, she often thought to herself, to love and lose so many witches and wizards and never have them understand how much you cared.

"Tibby?"

"Yes, young Madam?"

"You'll stay with me, won't you? When I have it. If something should happen…you'll need to help Mother."

"Nothing is happening, young Madam." Hermione reached up and gave the elf a friendly squeeze on the hand. "No, of course not. But just in case."

Draco and Greg came in just then. "Hello, love."

Hermione couldn't sit up, but she smiled brightly and pretended she could all the same. "Hello, gentlemen. How are you?"

"Well. Greg wanted to check on Custard."

"She's right here, Greg. The kits are adorable."

"Course they are. Our Custard made them. Isn't that right?" Custard flicked her tail in agreement and indicated her Big Kitten could touch the babies. Greg, aware he was being indulged, gently fingered one of the balls of fuzz. They looked like fat little chicks, so fluffy were they.

"Their eyes won't open for a few weeks, or their ears." He rubbed Custard's chin. "She'll be wanting supper soon, and then we'll take her for a while to give Hermione some rest."

Custard miaowed her agreement with the 'supper' part and then turned to her other pet humans. She gave the tall one her permission, and he slowly extended a fingertip and touched one of the kit's paws. "He's so tiny."

Hermione giggled. "Babies usually are, sweet."

Draco glowered. "Well, yes, but they're just so little and helpless… it's almost endearing." He wondered if that was how human babies were. He'd never seen a really tiny human child, and it fascinated him, thinking it was be so totally dependant on them for everything.

"Teddy's dependant on us, and tiny."

"It's different. He can do things." Pureblood ladies never left the house for quite some time after they'd had a baby, and the babies themselves weren't seen in public until they were at least four months old. Draco quite wondered what a newborn might look like, and act like. He hoped it wouldn't be as disconcertingly small as the kneazle kits were. He'd be scared of breaking it.

Voicing the last, he wasn't surprised when Hermione, after duly chuckling at his ignorance, sent Tibby to Darlington to look in her attic. The elf came back with a parcel done up in paper and twine, which Hermione directed it to open.

She reached in and handed Draco a picture. "Ugh! That's what a newborn looks like?"

"Draco! That's me at two hours old!" Draco slowly put the picture down. Greg picked it up again and studied it. " Even I saw that one coming, mate. It doesn't move. The picture."

"Muggle pictures don't, remember? That's really you?"

Hermione handed him a tiny hat next. " Yes, of course. Here's the hat Nan made." Draco ran it in his fingers, surprised by how soft and warm it was. "Angora?"

"She took apart her favorite jumper to make me that." She showed another picture, with her muggles clustered around a squalling, red faced creature wrapped in a blanket. Draco chuckled. "Who's this I see?"

"That's Hermione, Draco. Right?"

Draco shot Greg a look, but Hermione said quickly "He means the stuffed badger. I still have it."

Draco wished Greg wasn't there so he could tease Hermione a little. She apparently had the same idea, because she lowered her eyelashes flirtatiously at him and then said "Draco, may I have a word with Greg a moment?"

Draco blinked but rose and went to talk to Father about something that had been nagging at him. Greg sat heavily and raised his eyebrows.

"Greg, may I ask you a favour?"

"Anything."

"If I should...die, Greg, would you watch Draco for me? I worry about him. Make sure he doesn't do anything rash, all right?"

Greg nodded solemnly. "I will. But you can't die. Promise?"

Hermione laughed. "You want me to promise not to die when I asked you for a favour if I do die?"

Greg nodded. "We'd all be upset. Might have to take it out on Weasley or someone, you know."

Hermione laughed harder. "Greg, are you _blackmailing_ me not to die?"

"Yeah."

Father wasn't in his study. Draco looked a few more places and then walked toward the tower, thinking that perhaps he'd gone to talk to Trixie. Bellatrix was reclining on her bed, and sat, grinning, when she saw him.

"Well, if it isn't ickle nephie. What's wrong, Dwaco, lost your way?"

"Is Father here?"

"No, haven't seen him. And here I thought you'd come to visit. Perhaps you'll bring the missus?"

"Not a chance." Draco turned for the door. A cold little hand lashed out and caught his. "Going so soon?"

"Let go, Aunt Trixie."

She laughed. "You'll be back when the mudblood's bleeding her life out. Then you'll beg for my help."

Draco dropped his voice. "You'd best hope you never see me again. Because if you do, and something's happened… I'll come for you. And I'll make it slow. Think about that, won't you?"

"What, will you sacrifice me to her, like Polyxena on the tomb of Achilles?"

Draco dropped his voice lowered. "You're not worth it. I'll give you to the birds and wolves instead."

Bellatrix cocked her head. "You need me, boy."

"For what?"

"I taught you to hate. Remember that, when you try to kill me. Lucius taught you blood purity, but I taught you what hatred really is."

He didn't disagree with her, as he walked to find to his father in the still house.

He climbed into the bed as carefully as he could. He was sleeping in the family's heavy walnut sickbed, which had been adjusted so it would be the same height as the other bed. At night, the elves moved it so it would be level with Hermione. They could talk, hold hands and try to cling to normalcy as much as possible.

Hermione was awake. "Hello, Draco."

"How are you, love?"

"Well. The Goyles took Custard for a while, and her kits."

"Feels like a treat to be in bed with you."

"It feels like a treat to have you in bed with me." The silence seemed loud, so he pressed his head to her heart and listened, reassured that it was going normally. "Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, precious.' Draco took a very deep breath 'If…if something happens, and I have to choose…I'm choosing you."

Hermione blanched. "You've thought it through?"

He nodded. "Every minute. I'm choosing you."

"Would Mother and Father let you?"

"Of course they would."

Hermione was silent a long moment. "I've always prided myself on being able to express my thoughts, but this is…there's no words."

"Maybe that's better.' His face went rigid with anger. 'I thought once He was dead, we'd be safe. It's like the last night in the Room all over again, isn't it?"

Hermione shook her head firmly. "No."

"No?"

"Because I'll never wake to find you've gone to kill someone again."

Draco held her tighter and prayed with his whole heart she was right.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Love to reviewers.**

**According to my sources ("Accio google' said the author) 'chuck' is a British term of affection,used primarily in the North, pronounced 'chook' and meaning something like 'hon'.**

**There's a good deal of talk about an extremely loaded and sensitive topic in this chapter. I'd like to go on record as saying the Wizarding world deals with this the absolute worst way possible. If someone wishes to discuss this in greater depth, please PM.**

"It seems a bit pat to me, is all, Father."

Lucius nodded slowly. "Quite. I certainly hope you've not said anything."

"Of course not. Just wanted to see what you thought."

"And Andromeda is with Hermione?"

"She is." Draco sipped his wine meditatively. "I wish I knew what they were playing at."

"The Death Eaters or the wolves?" Lucius frowned; even his favorite pears and stilton weren't of much use tonight. Draco munched a bit of pear before he answered. "Both."

"I'd imagine the Death Eaters are doing what they always do, Draco. The wolves…who knows?"

"Do you expect McNair is running things now?"

"Or your uncle. Alecto seems to think they masterminded dumping …it… on Floy."

Draco nodded. "It sounds like them, except that it doesn't. Why kidnap him in secret and leave him like that, with something so easy to identify?"

Lucius smiled slightly. "I'm pleased you've thought about this so carefully."

"I just don't want…"

Lucius nodded. "In some ways, this is the best of all possible outcomes. Hopefully nothing will change that."

Draco ate another segment of pear, and thought of Hermione's longing for her parents, and wondered whether any outcome in all this was truly ideal.

Antigone had always hated Mallow house. But since Xanthippe swore she didn't have Mam's things, and Alecto, too, said she hadn't seen them, there seemed very little choice but to go and find the needed bits and bobs.

She set off, Greg in tow, having seen to Hermione and the kits in that order. Draco was still sleeping, but the girl had been awake and even chipper. "If you don't feel good, tell the elf."

Hermione nodded and stroked Custard's head. "You needn't go, Antigone, if you don't want to."

Greg nodded, brow beetling sharply. "What I said."

"I want to go. And Greg's offered to come too."

Greg's brow creased even more. "Galten has to work today, was all, and you shouldn't go by yourself."

They bid her farewell and Hermione felt a little thrill of jealously, watching them blithely walking out of the room and into the world. She'd done that once. She pressed a hand to her stomach and forced down her resentment. It was harder than it had been, she noticed, and was disquieted.

They hit solid ground amid a flurry of wet, slapping snowflakes. Antigone grasped Greg's hand and helped him through the wards. The house stood before them like a ruin of itself, all cupolas and gables, the front a faded red brick.

The door was unlocked. They stepped through, and their footsteps rang loud in the dusty hallway. It had a smell of neglect, and a tinge of the coldness that Greg knew came from Dark magic. He wondered how long the house had sat like this, a tomb with no bodies in it.

Antigone opened the first door. "This was my room." She hated this place; Greg wasn't the only one who thought this house a tomb. But she felt driven to see what remained of her mother on earth; as much as Da had hated her mother, he wouldn't have just destroyed everything. Would he?

Greg felt his stomach squirming wetly. The keep was drafty and not large, but this place was…sour, as thought the very stones were curdling. And the smell was stronger. He watched as she opened things, looked under the bed, in gardrobes and chests.

Nothing. "We'll try her wing, then." She walked without looking back, and Greg followed her. Fear filled his mouth; he needed to have a wee desperately, and he suspected that his morning tea had contributed nothing to it. But he'd not let her wander this spoilt place without him, and so, reminding himself of the fact he'd thrown up on her when he was nine and she'd not said anything, he followed.

"Mother?" Draco had gone to fly a bit, and so the women, bathed in winter sunlight, were having some time together, as they picked through the spring fashions together.

"Yes, love?"

"What's a tenth day gown?"

Narcissa flipped a page. "Where did you hear that?"

"Antigone is making one."

"The tenth day is a sort of ritual. The baby officially joins the family, we enter him in the family register, that sort of thing. The gown is a way for the maternal family to show they accept the baby too. Usually every family member contributes something…a button, a bit of trim."

Narcissa gently fluffed the pillow behind her daughter in law's head. "Do muggles do that?"

Hermione explained christenings as best she could, and had Leesy fetch the album for Mother to look at. "That's your grandmother?"

"Yes, in the pink. Did your mother make Draco's tenth day gown?"

"No." Narcissa smoothed Hermione's hair from her brow. "Trixie did. Mother had died by then."

Hermione tried to control her disbelief. "Bellatrix can sew?"

"Not very well, but it's the thought that counts. She's Draco's godmother, didn't he ever tell you that?"

"No." Hermione felt compelled to reassure Narcissa. "He forgot to, probably."

"I can't blame him. You must understand, when they lived here, it was…difficult. None of us wants to remember. And my sister did nothing to make things better. She's always hated Lucius. But I'd hoped she'd shield Draco from some of the more…immediate…aspects of what they did. He came back with blood under his nails, sometimes."

Hermione shuddered and found she didn't want to look at the magazines anymore.

It was the smell that hit them first. Spoilt food, old wine gone to vinegar, clouds of incense of a cheap and pungent sort, plaster, mould and mice. And that iron metal tinge, that hint of Darkness. They walked further into the wing and Greg found himself using the lumos he'd made to study the charms written on the walls, old ruins and strange sigils.

Walking into the corridor, they picked their way through the carpets, cut to rag and left in mouldering piles everywhere. There was no sound from anywhere in the house. The walls were buckling in some place, and Greg noticed the candle holders had been removed from the walls.

Antigone led them to the door and put her hand to the knob. "Greg?"

"Yeah, Tiggy?"

"You don't have to come, if you're…if you don't want. It's bad luck."

Greg shook his head. "It's all right, Tiggy. I want to help."

She stopped again, as though about to tell him to turn back, but then she didn't, and wrenched the thing in her hand with a single sharp turn. She gasped, hard, and moved as thought to block him from sight of what lay within, what obscenity had been committed here. But she wasn't fast enough, and he saw everything, and could do nothing for it.

They were napping when Greg came to get them. Draco woke to find his best mate's big hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Wake up. We have to go."

"Go where, Goyle? Stop shaking me, I'm up."

Greg's face was grey. "The Ministry. They're sending an ambulance for Hermione. Come on, mate, sit up."

Draco had opted to nap clothed, thankfully, and he got to his feet and stretched. "Hermione can't be moved."

Lucius appeared in the doorway. "We have to go and make statements, Draco. Something has been found."

Hermione closed her eyes as the orderlies levitated her onto the floating gurney. The gurney lurched forward and Hermione half gagged, wondering if it weren't the irony of things that had prompted it.

"Shhh, it's all right." Narcissa was riding in the ambulance with her daughter in law, while Draco and Lucius Apparated to the Ministry's atrium. She took Hermione's hand encouragingly as the ambulance carriage juddering up into the sky.

"What's happened, Mother?"

"We'll see when we get there, precious." More than that she would not say, and so Hermione closed her eyes and hoped as hard as she could that things hadn't got worse.

Shacklebolt looked grim as they were all ushered into a conference room. Galten Goyle, wearing his office robes, was sitting beside a thin, intense looking man that was introduced as Diomedes White, the head of British Wizarding Boundaries(and Galten's supervisor), and an under clerk who was acting as stenographer.

"Thank you all for coming. I'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible. Madam Malfoy?"

He motioned for the stenographer to take up his quill. "This is a closed session of inquisition into events outlined in document 51688-M, as attested to by J. Dawlish, auror." Shacklebolt addressed Hermione first.

"You attest you are Hermione Jane Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"You are a member in good standing of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I am."

"You helped to defeat Tom Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort or He Who Shall Not Be Named?"

"I did."

"In late April of 1998, you were briefly held captive in Malfoy manor, in a room under the floor of the first floor salon?"

"Very briefly, yes."

"While you were there, you were guarded by two Death Eaters?"

Hermione's nose wrinkled as she thought. "I think so. We'd been stupefied."

"What makes you think you were?"

"I saw two robes men lying on the floor when Father—Mr. Malfoy—and Professor Snape helped up out.

"Does the name Polycarp Mallow mean anything to you?"

"No." Kinsgley reached into a file folder and pulled out some photographs. "Let the parchment show I am authorising the witness to see exhibits 51688-B and C. Madam Malfoy?"

Hermione studied the pictures. A blunt face, with small eyes and an almost catatonically blank expression. She shook her head and handed them back. "Might have been. I'm sorry."

"Witness is released from questioning." The Malfoys rose. Lucius bent to murmur something in Galten's ear and the man shook his head. "Thank you, but it might be best' he looked at Hermione and Narcissa a second 'if we met up later."

Hermione wanted to protest but she was simply too tired, all of the sudden. It seemed a million years since she'd been in her own bed in the manor, with Draco there, and Custard. And it would take so long for them to get back, and it seemed a terrible distance…She shut her eyes and let sleep take her.

The Goyles returned several hours later. Greg managed to restrain himself as long as Antigone was in the room. As soon as she'd gone to lie down, he half threw himself into his brother's shoulder. "I'm so sorry!"

"For what, Greg? Hush, now, it's all right."

"I should've gone first! It was everywhere!"

"I know, chuck. You did right well getting Tiggy away like you did." Galten rubbed his brother's back lightly and wished Da was here to make it better. Galten had always adored Greg; ever since, age ten and shyly blushing, he'd been called to Mam's bedside to hold the squalling, toothless creature that was his new brother.

And Greg had repaid him with a sincere and lifelong belief that Galten hung the moon, and could do anything. He even found Galten's job marking boundaries enthralling. But Galten wasn't Da; he couldn't fix this, and he had to worry about Tiggy, too.

"Can I go and see Da?"

"Alecto'll be there, Greg. You don't mind telling her?"

Greg shook his head. "Stay with Tiggy. I'll deal with Alecto."

As Greg called for Minky to Apparate him, Galten thought of what a damned good kid his brother was. Then he went to deal with the real fallout of this—this—those bastards. Those unbelievable bastards.

Hermione shook her head and blinked tears. "This is…"

Draco's hands were knotting and unknotting as he made himself keep his calm. "When I find McNair, I'm going to rip out his spleen and feed it to him, the whoreson."

Hermione took his hand. "Draco?"

"Yes, precious?"

"Why don't you see how Greg is? He's had an awful shock."

"So have you. My little girl had a big day."

"All I had to do was let Kingsley dispose me. Poor Greg…I can't even imagine."

Draco rose and called Tibby and Leesy both. "One of you stay while the other finds…who, love?"

"Father, if he can."

Draco nodded and set out on his errand, wondering what to say and how to say it.

Galvin was enjoying a bit of tender roe deer when his son appeared, looking serious. "Ay up, Da."

"Ay up, Greg. What's wrong?"

"Is Alecto here?"

Galvin nodded. Five minutes later, they were sitting by the fire, swathed in soft hides. Greg stared into the fire and said, very calmly "I'm sorry to have to tell you, Auntie, but Polycarp is killed."

Alecto gasped. "What? How?"

"We went to Mallow house today to find Antigone's Mam's things and…" Greg swallowed hard. "They'd been there. There was blood all over the walls and floor."

Galten put a hand up. "They're sure?"

"They tested the blood on the floor and it matched Tiggy."

Alecto slumped to the side and started to sob. Galten put an arm around her and faced his son, brow beetling just as Greg's had done.

"You mean to tell me you and Tiggy went to that place, Gregory?"

Greg looked at the ground. "Uhn, yeah, Da." Nothing good happened when Da used his full name. Never ever. "Gregory Andrew, look at me."

_Shite_. "Yes, Da?"

"**WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME MADE EITHER OF YOU THINK THAT A GOOD IDEA**?" Being as the camp was heavily silenced, the shout didn't carry, but Alecto looked shell shocked, to say the least.

Greg,used to Da's bellowing when he felt annoyed, was unfazed. "Tiggy's making a tenth day gown and wanted something from there, I guess."

"And Galten agreed ?"

"Must have. I woke up and Tiggy said she was going, and Galten had to work, so I went."

"You know that place is…"

"Yeah, Da." Alecto stopped crying and said abruptly "What made her think to go there?"

"Dunno. Just we went down the corridor where her Mam…and she opened the door and there was blood all over. Dried, like, but that's what it was. So we called the aurors and made statements and all."

Galvin nodded, somewhat mollified. "Ought to tan you all right and proper." Which meant he wouldn't do. Greg nodded and Galvin squeezed his son's neck briefly. "Is everyone all right?"

Greg shook his head. "No."

Lucius smiled down at his daughter in law. "How are you, love?"

"Tired of sleeping. You?"

He shook his head. "Unfortunate, this business." Hermione looked at him and said, very forthrightly, and said "Who was that man in the picture, Father? Was he our guard that night?"

" Yes, he and Tallis. I believe Tallis was killed in the fighting, but Mallow got away. I suppose we all thought he'd gone to ground, but…"

Hermione closed her eyes a second. "They found him. Bellatrix and McNair."

"Or he fled to them for help and they killed him as punishment for what he'd done."

"He didn't do anything."

"Nor the Longbottoms, love, and see what they did to them. They would have taken the fact he'd failed, however understandably, as reason enough."

Hermione asked Leesy to prop her up a bit. "Why did they find hIm in Antigone's old house? Is he related?"

"Her older brother." Hermione blanched slightly and slid her hand into Lucius'. "That's awful."

"Yes." Lucius hadn't cared for any of the Mallow men, but he regretted the woman had found things that way. Not to mention Gregory, who might be a bit dense but had proved himself very loyal to Draco and Hermione.

"Why there?"

"You're aware that Madam Mallow did herself in?"

"Yes."

Lucius grimaced slightly. "Suicide is an affront to right order, darling. They meant to make a statement."

"They meant he'd failed, and that offended right order?"

Lucius nodded, feeling a certain pride in her quick assessment. "Well done. And by choosing that room, the charms that keep poor Hecuba's ghost at bay will lock his there as well."

Hermione looked horrified. "That's appalling."

He stroked her hand gently. " That's appalling. Now do be a good girl and relax, hmmm? Shall I read aloud?"

Hermione nodded and let her eyes drift close again. Lucius called for a book, wondering what she was thinking.

Galten crawled in beside his wife. Antigone was staring blankly at the ceiling. "Tiggs? Antigone?"

She rolled to face him. "You all right?"

"You first."

"I'm the one found her, you know. Mam."

"I know."

" I went to see why she hadn't got up. She'd wrapped her chamber pot in her nightdress to muffle the noise and did it with the shards."

She'd never talked about this, as far as Galten knew. He made an encouraging sound.

"When I saw it all over the walls…and the floor…and the ceiling, it made me remember…' she swallowed .

Galten was in an agony of inadequacy, wondering what to say. "Wasn't your fault, Tiggy."

"Course it wasn't. She was _sick_, wasn't anybody's fault. But I was the one took care of her. Why didn't she make it so I wasn't the one found her? Didn't she love me enough?" And then she was crying, and Galten held her. They stayed a long time that way.

In London, Kingsley Shacklebolt vowed to transfigure whomever had suggested muggle food for supper into a footstool, because he had awful heartburn from some sort of meat patty sandwich and an ice cream drink.

Putting down his file folders, he reached for his cloak, deciding he'd go and have a word with Albus Dumbledore's portrait. He stepped from his office and, so wrapped up was he in the thoughts of this case he almost didn't notice the auror until he'd bumped into him.

"Oh! Pardon me, sir."

"Ah, I, sorry, mate, I mean, sir." The man certainly seemed nervous. Shacklebolt did his best to smile comfortingly and extended a hand. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. And you are?"

"N-Noisome! Patrocles Noisome!"

"Everything all right, auror Noisome?"

"Yes, fine, just needed to get some , ah, files."

Kingsley nodded. Was he so imposing? Or perhaps this fellow was just very shy. He smiled again. "You'll want to speak to Hester Llewellyn in Records and Documents, room 416."

"T-thank you!" The man scurried off. Shacklebolt shook his head and sighed to himself. He really ought to make an effort to know the staff better. He walked for the atrium, deep in thought.

Meanwhile, Peter Pettigrew walked at a rapid clip until he found the right office, and asked the grandmotherly witch in the baby pink robes to help him find the floor plans to a number of buildings. Not that he, personally, needed most of them, he thought with a bit of smugness, but the wolves were insisting. He decided to ask for a few case files as well, and the chattering witch handed them over without hesitating.

"What a nice young fellow' the lady confided to her co-worker before they left 'but he should shave that terrible mustache."

As it turned out, Draco didn't have to go and find Greg; Greg, seeing the light under the door, came in and asked to cuddle the kits for a while. Seated in the chair, he took an orange dumpling in his hand and stroked it under the chin.

"Greg?"

"Hm?"

"We were sorry to hear about all this. Would you tell Antigone that as well?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. "

Greg put the kit down and smiled at Hermione. "Step in the other room, Draco?"

Draco followed into the sitting room and silenced them so the portraits wouldn't hear, or Hermione, who was brushing Custard and admiring her in an obliging voice.

"Everything all right ?"

Greg shook his head. "I realised how awful it must've been when you were…gone. With them, I mean."

Draco choked down irritation and nodded. "Yes, it was."

"You never said."

"It's over and done with, Goyle."

Greg shook his head again. "No, it's not."

Draco sighed deeply. "It doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"No, but it's all right. We've a plan."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "A plan?"

Greg didn't seem proud or happy to have actually thought up something designed to outsmart another person. "Yeah."

"You aren't enthused."

"I'm not. But it's better than nothing, I reckon."

"Does it strike you as ironic, that Christmas is coming soon, Greg?"

Greg cocked his head. "If you say, mate. Now, the plan is like this…"

Hermione was lying awake when Draco came back. Greg took the kits and Draco climbed in, swearing abruptly. "Bugger all, there's a damp place!" She laughed as he cleaned and dried the place and laid down again, muttering to himself. "Suppose I can't convince you to have the baby in Greg's bed as payback?"

"Draco!"

"Take it as a no, then. How was your visit with Father?"

"Very nice. He read to me a bit."

"My little girl likes that very much." He snuggled next to his wife and said nothing for a time. "Hermione?"

"Hmmm?" His neck smelt of soap and cologne and a little pomade. She felt relaxed and even cheerful, for the first time all day.

"Do you ever miss Hogwarts?"

"You mean school, or the castle?"

"The Room. Everything seemed much easier, didn't it?"

"In some ways. I hated sneaking about and lying, though." She nuzzled lightly at his throat and Draco smiled, letting her bring her hand down and cup him through the fabric of his trousers. "And we can do this any time we like, now, rather than only two or three times a month."

"And I can make sure my little girl is getting what she needs all the time, can't I? She needs help remembering the rules sometimes." Hermione's warm face was against his neck and her warm little hand was making him hard below. He lightly batted her away long enough to unzip and slid his trousers off.

"I must say, I've been rather impressed by the how big my little girl's been, seeing as she can't have her smackings right now. We've had a few very naughty little fits, but other than that, I –ah, love!"

Hermione slowed her pace so he wouldn't finish quite yet. "You were saying, Draco?"

Draco growled. "That is _certainly_ going on the list, little madam."

"I miss it, too. Not the hairbrush, but I miss your hand."

Draco laughed softly. "So you do have a taste for it!"

"No, but like I said, it's us." He nodded and finished in a quickly vanished burst of white. Draco was prepared to offer to reciprocate, when the door flew open and Greg appeared, holding the cat's box. "She won't settle—oi!"

"Goyle! Circe's sagging bubs, get out!"

A second later came the knock at the door. "Come in."

A scarlet faced Greg came in, staring at his shoes. "Custard, er, wants to come in here, I think. She won't settle down." The cat put her head up and yowled an affirmative. Greg set her on the bed, and watched as the kneazle carried her three kits from the basket and arranged them by Hermione's side, displacing Draco with a pointed snort.

"Next time, Greg, would you mind knocking? We were-"

Greg bravely looked up. "I know. Draco's explained it all to me."

Hermione turned and looked at her husband. "Draco?"

"Snape did most of it. I just rather expanded on a few points. You look dazzling tonight, incidentally."

"_Draco_."

"Yes, precious?" He smiled winningly, and gave Greg a look promising immediate and painful death should he mention this to anyone.

"I don't mind, I'm just curious what you said." Greg was taking notes on all this, careful to see what worked and what didn't. He had the idea Draco was getting bawled out later. Or something.

"Snape told me how to give Milly a baby when we're married, and Draco told me how to make her feel nice before we do the baby thing." Hermione's eyes softened.

"That was sweet, Draco."

"Yes, well."

Greg stood. "Sorry about earlier, won't happen again. You don't mind keeping Custard?"

"Not at all. Good night, Greg."

"Yes, indeed. Good night, Greg."

As the door closed behind him, Greg thought he heard Draco whisper something that was answered with a giggle and then a gasp from Hermione. He worried for a second that maybe it would be too much for Hermione, but then he thought maybe this was 'or else' and that perhaps some things are best left a mystery.

So he went to find a sandwich, and put it from mind.

When Bellatrix got a letter the next day, detailing the arrival of an auror who'd want to speak to her, Lucius, having read it, passed it on without a second thought. "Blood from a stone, I'd call it. Our tax galleons at work'. And he, too, put it from mind, and did other things.

Bellatrix did not put it from mind. She waited, and what she learnt was…edifying, to say the least.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:**

**Darlings,**

**Everything here is in confusion, given the arrival of a new family member, in the form of a black kitten which, Madea swears, she somehow adopted quite by accident. **

** Our dear Countess Black is very much missed. Madea forgot to mention her last time, and I had to ask Mr. Malfoy to scold her quite sharply over it.**

**Madea wishes to reassure the reader that an end to some of the mysteries and frustrations is indeed in sight. I vow to hold her to that, as it's most vexing that she won't tell me what happens next.**

** My husband and son send their regards.**

**Do let me know how you are. I worry so,**

**Nacissa Malfoy**

Neither of them quite noticed when it started. One moment they were discussing the new tax on imported manticore spleen and sipping pumpkin juice. The next, Hermione frowned. "Draco?"

"Precious?"

"Would you call Tibby? I think I might have wet a bit." Her face was pink, but the mid-witch had warned this might happen. Draco tugged the covers back as they waited for Tibby to get back with clean sheets. Draco went stark white. "Oh God."

"Draco?"

"Hermione, I need you to lie very, very still and unmoving until we can summon Snape. No, don't question, just do as you're told."

Accustomed as she was to obeying him, Hermione froze. Tibby dropped the sheets and Apparated herself to Spinner's End in an instant. Grabbing Snape and his bag, she Apparated him back almost as quickly, and with just as little explanation. Having dropped the snarling wizard off in the bedroom, she went to St. Mungo's, praying young Madam would be all right.

"I am not a house elf, to be summoned at your wh—how long have you been bleeding?"

"A few moments. It just started now." Snape nodded, took up his bag and immediately took a pulse.

Hermione made herself breath deeply and smile at Draco. "Don't worry, Draco. It doesn't hurt a bit."

Narcissa flung the door open and, seeing the bloodied sheets, went almost as white as Draco had. "Darlings!" She ran to Hermione's side and took her other hand. Hermione tried to make herself relax. Draco took Mother's other hand and made himself be brave for the ladies.

The room was well filled by the time the mid-witch arrived. She shooed them all well back and swished her wand. "The womb is rejecting all the bad humours."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"We're going to try and stop the bleeding, but if it doesn't let up, we might have to chance an early delivery."

"Can you stop the bleeding?" Ever pragmatic, Hermione was relieved to have something to mull over in her mind. "What's the percentage, would you say?"

"Not high. Most of these cases end in early delivery."

"Will the baby live this young?"

The healer shifted. "I—I wouldn't be optimistic, but it could happen."

Antigone, clad in black like a huge bat, stepped forward. "I've a recipe to stop bleeding." She sent for her herbal and gave it to the mid-witch. The woman's eyes scanned the page and she nodded. "It's worth a try.' She sent her elf for the ingredients and, leaving orders concerning blood replenishers and such, went with Snape to try to stop this from happening.

In Devonshire, Pansy Parkinson was having _real_ problems. When her graceful swooning garnered no response, she sat and shrieked for an elf. Pippy appeared, shivering, and Pansy glared. "idiot! I wish to go shopping. Tell Mother and prepare to escort me."

"Yes, Miss." Pippy left and Pansy prepared to Floo. She'd been wearing black for Blaise, who by all rights should have lived and married her. Polynices, at least, had come through unscathed, though he tended to say the strangest things now.

Luckily it was a good colour for her, and set off her hair (which she'd been wearing in a fashionable chignon high on her head, much better than that whore Draco stupidly married) to perfection. She studied herself, smoothed on a bit more powder, and left with the elf.

Perhaps she'd go and see Polynices. But then, sick people are so tiresome. And it wasn't like he was the diverting sort of sick, the sort which made people coo admiringly. No, he'd just gone mad, like some dotty old cat lady. She sniffed and walked toward her favourite shops, determined to take her mind off things.

The Universe, it would seem, was conspiring against her. First Madam Malkin didn't have the cut of robes that Pansy preferred. Then the Leaky Cauldron was out of minced fig flitter pasty. And the streets were slushy.

More annoyed by the second, Pansy decided to go to a cute little shop which had opened only the previous week, and sold perfumes. She found something she liked, but to her absolute horror, the witch who owned the place was politely insistent about cash, having not had time to set up a ledger with Gringott's to transfer money directly from customer's accounts.

Pansy, of course, carried no cash, and stomped out in a huff just in time for warming charms on the street to have worn off. She slipped, dousing herself in freezing, muddy water, and, standing, determined to go somewhere to dry off and then go home.

The closest place was a horrible, vulgar store which, she noticed with distaste, sold jokes. She stepped into the store, which was nearly empty, being as it was the middle of the day. She could hear a voice from the back of the store, and realised with a cramp of painful nostalgia and thwarted anger it was Draco.

"…Bleeding. We're trying to fix it, but could Madam Weasley come and get Teddy?"

"I'll owl straightaway. When should Mum be there?"

"Soon as possible. Please tell Wea—Ron to come too."

Pansy crept close enough to see the look on the face of the man who was speaking into the fireplace. His hair was long over his ears, she noticed. "That bad, Malfoy?"

"Yes. And Potter, too, if…if they want to be sure of seeing her." Pansy heard his voice falter ever so slightly, and the man taking the firecall swore under his breath. The bell tinkled and Weasley from school bustled in. "They're having a sale on Windelwort, so I thought this would be a good time to worm the pygmy pu—Parkinson?"

She opened her mouth but the taller boy stepped forward. "Ron, Hermione is…she's not well. Get Mum and then go to Malfoy's, we're taking Teddy. And get Harry, too."

Weasley's face had gone so pale his freckles looked like currants in pudding. "Harry?"

"Go, Ronnie, you're on leave with pay until this blows over. Help Mum." He spun his brother around and pointed him to the Floo. Weasley stepped in and was gone. The other Weasley turned to Pansy.

"Help you, Parkinson?"

She shook her head. "Thank you, no." He already had, hadn't he?

Malfoy met them at the Floo. He was holding a chubby, drowsy baby in a linen gown and little cap. Andromeda Tonks stood beside him, looking wan and nearly burnt out. "Molly, thank you."

"It's no trouble. May we see her?" They traipsed upstairs and found themselves confronted by a harried looking healer, who nodded at them. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Please don't upset Madam Malfoy, or disturb her. She's very fragile."

They swore and, leaving Molly in the corridor for the nonce, stepped into the room. Snape was sitting wearily in a chair by the bed, and Goyles one and two were nearby with a large woman Ron remembered as the older Goyle's wife.

"Ron! Harry!" Hermione smiled. "It's been too long. How's the shop, Ron?"

"Fine, Hermione. How're you?"

"I've been better, but there's no pain. And Greg's promised to bring the kits back as soon as I'm better."

The younger Goyle nodded tensely. "I did. Promise."

"Harry, how is Ginny?"

"She's great. Training with the Harpies, but…I'm sure she'd love to come and see you."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't call her away. I'm really feeling quite well." She asked an elf to bring extra chairs and they sat, a touch awkwardly. "Mum's here. She'd like to see you as well."

"That would be wonderful." Molly handed Andromeda her grandson for a moment and came to give Hermione a gentle hug. "It's nice to see you, love."

"You look beautiful. How is Fleur? Better than I am, I hope."

"She's doing wonderfully." Molly looked at the girl who was a second daughter to her and Arthur and wished she could fix this. Or find Cyril and Anne Marie, at the least, because it had all begun to seem real when she'd caught sight of Lucius Malfoy, eyes very bright, slipping down with a basket of offerings. It's hard to hate someone who's praying their child survive the next few days. They'd want to know.

She was opening her mouth to say something when a voice she recognised vaguely rang out. "I've every right to be here, now I demand admittance at once!"

The door opened and Pansy Parkinson traipsed in, draped in black, head held high. She was being trailed by four very angry looking boys. "Why, Hermione, one would hardly know you were ill."

"All right, Parkinson, you've proved the point. Leave."

She turned to Draco and smiled. "But Draco, I've obligations. We're practically family, Hermione and I."

Hermione's voice was flat. "What are you talking about, Parkinson?"

"Antigone is my cousin, which makes you a second cousin, distaff, of course."

Molly turned and murmured something in Antigone's ear. They spoke a second more, and the red head stood, smiling. It was a smile nearly as frightening as Narcissa's, and all four boys' blood ran cold looking at it.

"Now, dears, if Miss Parkinson wants to exercise her familial rights, we mustn't hinder her."

"_**Mum**_?"

"_Molly_?"

Molly smiled and took Pansy by the arm. "Come with me, dear, and we'll find you something to do."

The orderly stepped outside at 11.15 to get a bite in one of the little chip shops which dotted the area around St. Mungo's, and, without three minutes of being out of sight of the hospital, was prompted clubbed and captured by the four wolves sent for that task.

It took a few more hours to collect three more, but the wolves felt they'd done well. They brought them back and harvested enough for repeated polyjuicings, then disposed of them in the normal fashion. The important thing was the uniforms, which could easily be replicated. The plan was moving apace, and all was right in the world.

In the latest of the series of dwellings in which the Death Eaters had gone to ground, Greyback was sitting with Rodolphus Lestrange, Rookwood and Wormtail, sipping some sort of drink.

"Is it alchoholic?"

Rodolphus shook his head. "I don't think so."

Rookwood set his down. "Something that vile must have alcohol in it."

"My thoughts exactly." Greyback swallowed another slug of the drink and grimaced. "Ugh. Like piss."

"Unicorn piss." They all turned to stare at Wormtail. "And how would you know, Peter?"

"Well, I mean…I imagine…unicorns are…shall I fetch you another glass, Augustus?"

"All right." They shook their heads at his retreating back. "I knew his father."

"Was he…"

"He was a right nice chap until those selkies mauled him. Never the same after that."

"So, the plan."

Greyback lined it out in detail and the others just listened. "Thoughts?"

"That is either the stupidest thing I have ever heard, or the most brilliant."

"And you say you'll see her tomorrow?" Greyback wondered whether Lestrange objected to his and Bella's…he and Bella. He nodded. "Yes, I'm going myself."

"Do give my regards to Trixie, if you would."

"You're sincere, aren't you?" Rodolphus nodded and sipped his brightly coloured drink, making a moue of distaste. "This is no time for petty personal complaints, Fenrir. The Cause is all."

"You consider my fucking your wife a sacrifice for the Cause?"

Rodolphus laughed, hard. "No! God, no. But I think you keep her busy, and that, Greyback, is a great service all it's own."

Greyback nodded. "Your business. Shall we drink a toast?"

Rodolphus walked to the kitchen and brought back the bottle. "You know, the name is an anagram for 'vomit'."

"Unicorn vomit, or regular?"

Galvin Goyle handed his son another piece of venison and watched as Galten ate it. "Bleeding."

"Yeah, Da."

"Sod me, it never gets better, does it?"

"No." Galten took a sip from the small bottle of hot hippocras he'd brought. "But it could be worse."

"Yeah." They sat silently for some time. "Galten?"

"Da?"

"This plan…it might not work."

"I know, Da."

"You'll take care of the family?"

"Don't I always?"

"Yeah." He sipped a bit from the bottle.

Galvin wished he were smarter. Malfoy was smart; he'd have made some fancy speech to his boy, and told him all sorts of clever things. Maybe Alecto would help him, if it came to that. 'Might not. Maybe they'll just go away.'

"I wonder sometimes whether I could've stopped her leaving. Tarpeia."

Galten shook his head. "No, Da. She was a whore."

"Galten Richard!" Galten jumped and reminded himself he was an adult and Da was crippled anyhow, and couldn't tan him. Probably. "I don't mean it hurtful, Da. But she was."

"She's your Mam."

"Stopped being our Mam the day she sold us for that Halfblood's coin."

Galvin gave his son a stern look and then softened. "I've done my share of bad things, boy. More than you'd know, or care to know. But damned if I didn't try to do right by that woman."

"I know, Da." And Galten thought about the things we keep and those we throw away, and felt profound gratitude and sadness all at once. "Sometimes doing what's right is all there is."

The bleeding didn't stop. The elves swapped the dirty linen for clean and fed Hermione the required potions, as Draco and the others kept her company. Lucius came in mid afternoon, trailed by four elves, each holding a lit brazier. They set them in the corners, and Lucius whispered blessings over all four before he came and sat by the side of the bed.

"What are they?"

Lucius seemed faintly abashed. "They're to encourage the ancestors to come and help you." Draco seemed tense, almost angry, but he nodded. "Have you made the offerings, Father?"

"We'll start with just the incense, love. If we need anything else, I'll let you be first, all right?"

Draco nodded, fists clenched, and Lucius squeezed his hand. "I know precisely what you're thinking, and the answer is no, Draco. You aren't even to go to the tower, understood?"

. "Yes, Father."

"Nor send Gregory, or Potter, or Weasley. Or an elf."

Draco met his father's eyes. "You know me too well, Father."

"Of course I do. Now, Hermione will be taking a nap, and so will you. My chambers, please, for at least an hour." Draco left, not daring to disobey, but still dreading what the braziers meant. "Father?"

"Hermione, I know we always say that eavesdropping is rude, but you may listen to what's said in front of you, especially when it concerns the nap you'll be taking."

"Why does Draco seem upset about the braziers?"

Lucius looked past Hermione for a second, then steeled himself. "Because they imply something he doesn't wish to consider."

"What is it?"

"That the time has come to turn from the human realm."

Hermione pondered this. "What does the tower have to do with that?"

Lucius watched as Tibby administered the newest dose of potion. "Where is magic located, Hermione?"

"In our blood, Father."

"And the most powerful of all?"

"Heart's blood."

"Indeed. The more valuable the offering, the more it allows the ancestors to use our energy to influence things. The concentrated magical essence of a slain enemy..."

"And you think he'd…?"

"Yes. Straight to sleep." Lucius stayed with his daughter in law in the darkened room, holding her hand, until he was sure she was soundly asleep. He rose and went to sit in her sight, to speak to his parent's portraits.

"Lucius, my love, what's happened?"

"I'm sorry no one thought to tell you, Mother. Hermione's bleeding."

"Bleeding! Darling, are you sure?"

"The mid-witch is trying to reverse it as we speak." Simpronia cooed, wishing she were there to comfort her son with a hug. Abraxas was silent beside her and Io, thankfully, was napping.

"Lucius?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Is Draco all right?"

"No, Father. Nor would I be."

"Quite. Bring the easels and set us by the bed. We'll do our part watching the girl." Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Father?"

"I might not like mudbloods, but this particular one happens to be my granddaughter. And she's really quite amusing. Be a good boy and have the elves get the easels for us, hmmm?"

"And me as well."

"Tertullius? That mightn't be the best idea." Lucius looked to his parents for support, but they'd both acquired a look of blank eyed incomprehension which meant he was on his own. He stepped as lightly as he could. "You ought to keep Io company, Tertullius."

"Nonsense! I'm coming too!"Naturally, she'd chosen that moment to snap awake. Feeling rather like a muggle zookeeper, Lucius found himself painted into a corner in record time. Out of energy to weasel them into staying, he sent for the easels, and so Hermione slept watched by four Malfoy ancestors, though, at least, Tertullius agreed to keep the Trollish poetry to a minimum.

As Lucius was leaving the rooms, he was accosted by the auror from Buxton. "Good day, sir. Madam Lestrange tells me that young Madam Malfoy is ill."

"Yes, very."

"May I ask what the trouble is?"

Luciu looked ten years older than when last Greyback had seen him. "She's haemorrhaging quite heavily."

"Will you take her to hospital?"

"Not as long as we can help it. Noisome?"

"Sir?"

"How does she know? Madam Lestrange, I mean."

"She says the elves were wailing more than usual." He bowed and went on his way.

Lucius nodded and went to check on his son, thinking that the fellow should shave that ludicrous mustache and mind his own damned business. Greyback, having got Bellatrix's seal of approval and passed on Rodolphus' fond regards, went back to Death Eater headquarters and told them all he knew.

In another part of the manor, Pansy Parkinson was helping Madam Malfoy with an inventory of baby clothes. Most of them, it seemed, had been destroyed after some mysterious happening, and so they were trying to find suitable replacements.

"Percy was a very small baby, let me see what we have. It will need littler things than usual at first."

"That would be wonderful. Pansy, don't blot the nib so, it will stain." Cousin Antigone was sewing something, and without looking up, said "And my hopechest. Plenty there."

"Oh, Antigone, no. That's for you and Galten to use." Pansy was contemplating a snide remark when her cousin shook her head. "This baby can have them. We won't need them any time soon, surely."

Pansy threw down the quill in disgust. "I thought you said I could help!"

"This is helping."

"No, it isn't, this is doing house elf work!"

Antigone smiled nastily. "You could always help the elves tend Hermione. Don't mind getting blood on your clothes, do you? Or make the first offering, if you'd rather. It needn't even be blood this time." Pansy went white and shook her head.

"Now, Pansy, how are we for baby shoes?"

Hermione found herself back at Nan's. It struck her as unsurprising, strangely, even when it wasn't Nan but a tall, good looking man with starkly black hair and weirdly familiar eyes. Grey green, and ringed with lashes long as sunbeams. Almost like…

"Cyngus Black, granddaughter."

"That's who you look like! Like Sirius!"

The man laughed. "Quite. He sends his love. Rather wishes Harry would stop the broom tricks, however." Cyngus looked stern a second before he laughed again. He reminded Hermione a little of…Bellatrix, but not quite. Perhaps the person she might have been, had she made better choices.

"The Mask, darling. It's close now. He's angry. Even my Pixie isn't safe anymore."

"Pixie?"

He looked sad. "You have to remember this time, love. Do you promise?"

"I'll try."

He smiled again and cupped her cheek. "We're all so proud of you, truly. She can't wait to see her."

"Who can't wait?"

"Tell my little newt she needs to eat. Daddy hates to see her starve. It won't bring them back, but it does hurt them to see. Make sure she knows. Make sure."

"Sir, please, I don't know-"

Hermione was thrashing and moaning in her sleep. Narcissa wet the flannel with a bit of cologne and gently daubed her daughter in law's brow with it. "All right, shhh, Mother is here."

"He says… Mask is slipping. Pixie's in danger…little newt…"

"Hermione?"

"Fast now…slipping…needs to eat….danger…"

Narcissa stomach roiled. She accepted the prophesy was possible the same way she breathed; it simply was. But she didn't like this, not at all. Her skin was crawling, and the hand that held the flannel was shaking. She set it down.

"Darling, can you hear me?"

Hermione's eyes opened and she smiled tiredly. "Mother? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, love. Only…do you remember your dreams?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "No, Mother. Just someone talking. Why?"

"You were murmuring in your sleep, love, is all. Shall I ask Grandmother to watch you? I need to run an errand."

Hermione agreed, and having woken Simpronia, Narcissa half ran to Andromeda's rooms. She wasn't there. She walked as fast as she could up the stairs and walked into Bellatrix's room just as her sister was saying " You promised, Meddie."

"Trixie…"

"I've told Daddy all about this behavior, by the way. Wouldn't want to be you when you finally meet the ancestors. Cissy, what's wrong?"

"Trixie, what did Daddy used to call you?"

Bellatrix set down her fork and blinked. "Bellatrix."

"No, no, he had a pet name for you. What was it?"

Andromeda smiled a little. "'Pixie', wasn't it? You bounced around so much."

Bellatrix couldn't remember; Azkaban had taken that from her completely. Instead, she frowned and offered Narcissa the tray of little sandwiches. "Cissy, sit down and eat, it's late."

"What did he call you, Meddie?"

Andromeda's eyes were distant. "Newt, of all things. I made a horrible mess with some mud pies, and he said I looked just like a newt, grubbing in the dirt that way."

"You did, too." Bellatrix couldn't remember that, either, but she saw opportunity and jumped on it with both feet.

"Didn't."

"Did."

Narcissa took up a scone and munched. "Perhaps you ought to have one, Andromeda. Just to be on the safe side."

Andromeda grumbled but complied. "Why did you come up, Cissy?"

Narcissa looked away for a moment. "Just wanted to check something."

When Lucius came to her that evening, she told him they needed to start the sacrifices as quickly as possible, and volunteered to be first. He told her Draco had asked, but agreed they'd start. They cuddled a long time under the duvet, reassuring one another with their bodies.

"Your father really used to call your elder sister 'Pixie'?"

"Apparently so. Why?"

Lucius frowned. "I would have given my arm to know that last year. I could have let it slip at a meeting." He chuckled evilly and Narcissa poked his side. "Honestly, Lucius." But she laughed a little too.

The elves moved silently, making preparations. And then, when the sky first lightened, the ceremony began, and everything changed, perhaps a bit faster than it might have otherwise.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:**

**Muggles:**

**This is a long note, and so I've undertaken to do it, being my masculine duty. All of us are quite well, and the kitten is thriving (though she apparently thinks my hair a wonderful toy).**

**Madea's flagrant theft is even more pronounced this chapter, and so I've chronicled it to show what I mean:**

**Banging to drive off bad spirits was inspired by Jean M Auel's Clan of the Cavebear**

**Gregory quotes Euripides' Trojan Women**

**I myself quote Billings' 'David's Lamentation'**

**Mother metions something from'La Nozze di Figaro' by WA Mozart**

**Gregory quotes 'Romeo and Juliet', to our surprise, and apparently by accident**

**Potter quotes 'Highlander'**

**Alecto references 'Macbeth.**

**The starred quote is direct. Madea would like to see whether anyone knows the source.**

**Anyway, do write back, it's ever so dull here.**

**Lucius Malfoy, being pounced by a kitten**

The night before they'd taken the cleanse, swallowing bitter doses of alfalfa, burdock and centaury. It would clean them totally, inside and out, and then they chewed fennel to cleanse even their air. Hermione was exempt from the infusion, but she chewed the fennel and slept, for the first time in years, naked. And quite alone, as they each had to be absolutely sure there would be no contamination between their bodies and those of their spouses.

Because they had fulfilled the marital debt within the last lunar month, Narcissa and Antigone were subjected to further ablutions, designed to strip every trace of their husbands from their flesh. There could be no mistakes in this; even a slight deviation could be fatal.

It was just after four when Tibby shook Draco awake. He rose, shedding his clothing clumsily and allowing himself to be led by the elf. The bath was prepared. He could smell the herbs in it, lavender and basil and sage and myrrh, and he allowed himself to be guided in and immersed totally. Five times, and the fifth some elf handed him a mug of the same stuff to cleanse him throat, mouth and tongue.

As he stepped out, Tibby wrapped him in a towel and dried him, passing a brazier of incense over his body to hide the scent of his flesh. Guided into his robes, he was led down the hall and deposited on a divan in Father's rooms.

It was very dark. All the lights in the house, even the great cook fires, were extinguished, lest the spirits called become distracted. The mirrors were covered, and every knot unbound. Draco felt a terrible fear. The last time they'd done this, it was for the repose of Drusilla's anima. They settled to wait together, in hope and fear, in a room rendered strange by a total absence of light.

Andromeda, having given Teddy to Molly Weasley, was also preparing herself. Hair unbound, she waited for her summons, perfectly still. Lemmy was sitting at her shoulder, keeping her company in the dark. She felt afraid, deeply afraid. Worse to summon them, or not to? Worse to know or not to know?

Bellatrix was not being prepared. She had been heavily dosed with dreamless sleep to prevent her deliberately mucking things up. Every door and window was charmed to prevent any kind of potential contamination from outside leaking in.

Severus Snape, having stayed the night to preserve ritual cleanliness, waited with his godson. He'd never been an especially religious man, but in this, he would respect the Malfoy wishes and do his bit. He smiled, a touch sourly, and reflected they always got their way in the end.

Hermione opened her eyes to find Tibby and Leesy levitating her into the tub. The room was close and dark, and the water hot enough almost to burn. But Hermione felt the heaviness of the thing, and said nothing, as they dried her and passed her through the smoke, and, wrapping towels about her to catch the blood, put her back into bed, clad in a nightgown. She was not afraid in the dark.

Ridgey, sent to watch the omens, saw the first sign. He picked up the tea tray he'd been issued and banged a sharp tattoo, warning any interloping spirits to leave. The other elves took up the rhythm, and the drumming echoed through the corridors, until, the beating of a great heart, it was the final moment. Lucius rose and the elves helped the others to follow, single file, into the room where Hermione lay.

The door opened. The elves led them into the room and arranged them in the necessary places, and the braziers came to life with a whoosh and a smell of burning charcoal. Immediately, all sound ceased.

"We stand now at the in-between, the place where worlds meet. There are no secrets in the dark." Lucius closed his eyes, breathed deeply and began.

"Brutus Malfoy."

"Galbraith Goyle."

"Tertullius Malfoy."

"Galwaine Goyle."

Father looked to Andromeda, who took up the chant.

"Damocles Black."

"Fimbrius Malfoy."

"Galloway Goyle."

"Hypatos Black."

Draco stood taller and gave Hermione a quick wink. "Cunegunde Malfoy."

Mother, next. "Io Black Malfoy."

Antigone. "Andromache Mallow Jugson."

Weaving a chain stretching back as far as they could make, the beloved dead of five lines were called forth to give aid in this moment of extremis. Hermione let the names wash over her, feeling herself part of them, part of all of them.

"Abraxas Malfoy."

"Gannon Goyle."

"Cygnus Black."

"Simpronia Warrington Malfoy."

"Ancestors, honoured one and all, see your descendents and hear their plea. Heal this woman, give her child life, and protect us on life's path, knowing that all of us will join you in service to the family, each in our turn."

He poured out wine and herbs, and along with Galten and the two boys, sprinkled them onto each of the four braziers. They hissed, smoking, and the room was filled with the smell of burning wine and plants.

"Come forth and give us a sign you are well pleased." The room, once airless, filled with a cool breeze. The bedclothes rose, snapping, and dropped again, and the sound of soft whispering filled the chamber—or was it their heads?—with the voices of those called from eternity.

Narcissa stepped forward. "Ancestors, there are those among you who never finished your span of years, who died before the time appointed to all men. Come now, and fulfil your duties to the family line.' Her voice did not shake as she poured wine into the bowl.

"Drusilla Malfoy."

"Nymphadora Tonks." Andromeda was glad it was dark. No one could see the tears that ran down her face. "Remus Lupin." The woman poured the offerings into the braziers, and Galten took up the bottle and bowl.

"There are those among you, dead untimely, loved and lost, who, if inclined, might lend support to this, our petition. Hear us and find rest, assured always of offerings in gratitude for your pains."

Snape's voice gave nothing. "Albus Dumbledore."

"Sirius Black."

"Vincent Crabbe." They poured the offerings and were duly rewarded with the sounds that let them know they'd been received.

Minky brought forth a fifth brazier, set it down and lit it for them. Lucius reached for a small, dense cake, and dropped the whole thing into brazier.

The room filled with choking, acrid smoke. Hermione, in the bed, gasped as the dreaming took her, and the others, one by one, succumbed to the effects of the cake, which the ancients had called 'What dreams may come'.

The elves wrote down what they heard, as they heard it, and waited for the visions to run their course. Lots of what was being said was nonsense—scraps of things, dreams, smoke drunkenness, but some of it, perhaps, was true prophecy.

Greg was first. Stiffening violently, he shook his head. "It's death there..."

Nearby, tears were running down Narcissa's face silently. "Darling? Darling, I'm here."

"..they'll rest… bridegroom and bride in the house of…"

"Tell her to come. The Inbetween place. "

"False faces…and true. It's slipping. Newt and Pixie…little Echo." Andromeda hugged herself and rocked silently.

Draco was crying. Tears were rolling down both cheeks. "I'm sorry. I never meant it." He reached for a figure which the smoke had limned and felt it slip his fingers. "Don't let her die."

Lucius, too, was weeping. "Oh, my son. Would to God I had…my son, my son." He shivered violently, stuck in that moment in time, seeing it again and again, like a ghost of himself.

The smoke was clearing. One by one they returned, and faced one another in the dawn light, feeling drained and having no memory of what had passed. Lucius rose and helped his wife to her feet. Narcissa went and stroked Hermione's cheek without another word. They would shower and sleep, and then the two heads of the families would read what had been recorded and come to a consensus.

Greg had to be half led back to his room and tended to by an elf. Freshly bathed, he was tucked in and fell asleep at once. Vince came to him and sat on the end of the bed.

"Oi, mate."

"That was some scary shite, Vince."

"Yeah." Vince looked thoughtful and sad. "You all right ?"

Greg considered. "No. Be a damned sight easier if all of you'd just speak plain, you know it?"

"Yeah. But rules are rules." Vince frowned suddenly. "Don't let Draco hurt Bellatrix."

"She's a mad cow."

"Yeah, but don't let him. Promise?"

"I'll try." Greg was determined. He tried to sit but fell back, head spinning. His stomach jumped.

"Oi, Vince?"

"Yeah, Greg?"

"Is the stuff Snape and Draco were saying about making babies true?"

"Yeah. Want me to hang about until you're asleep?"

"Be nice." And so he did.

Andromeda, too, was dreaming. At the moment, her head was against Daddy's shoulder, and she was crying too hard to make a sentence. When she'd finally calmed, he gently pressed her back for a moment.

"You don't hate me?"

Cygnus raised a brow. "_Hate_ you?"

"I, ah…we parted on bad terms, is all. You aren't…cross?"

"Oh, precious." He held her again. "I love all my girls."

She let herself relax into his embrace. "I miss you. I miss all of you."

"We're always here, my darling. You know that.' He reached to tip up her face. 'Why does Trixie tell me you've not been eating?"

Andromeda was forty seven years old. She'd faced down the opprobrium of her culture, her daughter's choice to become an auror and marry a werewolf, the death of three quarters of her family, living with one of the most dangerous Death Eaters in Britain, and Narcissa's repeated attempts to take her shopping.

But all the same, she felt herself start to squirm. "Andromeda Callista, you heard what I said."

"Yes, Daddy."

"How do you think I feel about that?"

Being forty seven and having done all those things, she still found herself, red faced, explaining to her father about why she'd been skipping her tea.

Hermione kept bleeding. It was a thick, sluggish, consistent bleed. Snape, after the ritual, had woken with his usual ill grace and went to work on the recipe from Antigone's herbal. He ground the horn and dried the spider webs finely enough that they could be ground and the whole could be taken as an infusion. Face like a sore tooth feels, he carried the steaming, vile mess up the stairs and into the bedroom without even knocking.

"Godfather."

"Draco. Is she awake?"

"Sleeping, still. Thank you. For this morning."

"You're welcome."

Snape held the steaming mug while Draco gently shook her awake. She felt cold to him. Hermione had always been so warm; her flesh was clammy and chilled. Snape noticed too. "We'll up the dosage of blood replenisher, Draco. She'll be all right."

Hermione's eyes opened. "Draco?"

"There's something here I need you to drink, Hermione. I'll give it to you. Just be a good girl and swallow it all, won't you?" She nodded and drank the sour, chalky stuff in one go. Draco guided her back and she went to sleep almost immediately.

"Godfather?"

"Draco?"

"Would it be all right if we took a walk later? I need to find someone to stay with Hermione, but-"

"We're here, love."

"Grandmother?"

"Grandfather and I are right here. And very annoyed we weren't invited this morning. Tell your father to come and see us by the way."

Snape snorted and stepped up. "Madam, perhaps you'd prefer an assistant who is-"

"Corporal? Honestly, men are so concerned with those things. We'll be fine.' She squinted closer. "I remember you. You're Lucius' little halfblood friend, isn't that right?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, Madam."

"You see, Abraxas, I told you he wouldn't end up in Azkaban. Cherubino, wasn't it?"

"Severus, Madam, Severus Snape."

"Of course. Call an elf, and we'll have help enough, please, Severus." Seeing no recourse, he obeyed, and in short order, he and Draco were walking back to his rooms in the North Wing. "Will it work? The potion?"

Snape wished there was an easy answer. "I should hope, Malfoy."

"But do you think it will?"

"No." Snape opened the door and waved his godson inside. "I think she'll deliver early, Draco."

"How early?"

Snape shook his head. "According to the mid-witch, the baby is viable. Perhaps."

"It might live?"

Snape wished he could refuse to do this. Leave it for Lucius or Galten or even their wives. But he'd never shirked a duty in his life, and he wouldn't start now. "It's possible, but, Draco…prepare yourself for that not being the case. And if it is born alive, I don't know how long it might live."

"What's the best case scenario?"

Snape called for tea for them both. "That we can keep her stable for a month or more. It would have a better chance at even a few more weeks than it has now. And we can put it under heavy stasis until it grew big enough to survive. But even then, there's a chance it might have problems."

"Problems?"

"It will be puny, for one. It might never catch up to others it's own age as far as weight and other physical characteristics. It might struggle with lessons. And…"

"And?"

"This is a terrible strain on Hermione's body, Draco. It's possible she'll never bear another child."

Draco's hands were shaking. "But will she die?"

"No way to know." It heartened him that Draco had asked the right question. He would have done a lot, much of it unspeakably hideous, to give his godson a live wife and a healthy baby at the end of all this, but the longer it wore on, the less likely that seemed.

Andromeda mounted the stairs and knocked at the door. "Enter." She did.

"Meddie, how nice. Tell me, has the mudblood commenced dying yet?"

Andromeda went still. "I came to have a pleasant conversation, Bellatrix, If you aren't interested, let me know now, please, and I shan't waste my time."

Bellatrix shook her head. "No, it's fine. Are you hungry?" The first thing she would do was fatten Andromeda up a bit, once things had righted themselves. Pies and tarts and pasties and milk to put weight back on her. She smiled, thinking of it, and motioned for her sister to sit.

"I am. Shall we ask the elves to send something up?" Bellatrix nodded and reached for Andromeda's hand. "You look better today."

"I feel better. I was thinking, and—perhaps we should talk about it, Bellatrix."

"Talk about what?" Bellatrix was hoping Andromeda didn't want to talk about her Halfblood daughter and how she'd died. Andromeda had forgot what was right and proper in these circumstances, and she'd get all het up.

She was almost relieved when Andromeda said "About Ted. About the night I left."

"Nothing to talk about."

"There is. Why did you become a Death Eater?"

Bellatrix blinked slowly. "Chalk and cheese, Meddie."

"Please?"

"Because it was the right thing to do. Because He was right, and it was our time."

"But you didn't set out to do it? Never on purpose?"

"No, of course not. I went with Rodolphus, is all."

"My love for Ted... It wasn't deliberate. It just happened."

Half of Bellatrix wanted to strangle Andromeda for even daring to make the comparison. The other half was sure a good slap and a ticking off would suffice. She glared sharply, and Andomeda threw up her hands.

"I'm horrid at these things. What I'm trying to say is, I never set out to hurt you."

"I know." Bellatrix waved the elf away and handed her sister a fresh roll, delighted when Andromeda bit in and chewed. Andromeda stopped chewing. "You do?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have become a Death Eater if it hadn't been for the Dark Lord."

Andromeda finished the roll. "Then you loved him…that way."

Bellatrix snorted. "Andromeda, one did not love the Dark Lord in the way one loved other humans. He was…special, exceptional, and he made a person feel like they were, too."

"You were always special, Trixie."

Bellatrix laughed. "Yes, of course, but He used that to His benefit, rather than have me wither in l'hotel L'estrange, having babies and arranging flowers. Is so different from your mudblood, Meddie?"

"Ted would never have asked me to do those things he asked of you, Bellatrix. Those poor aurors…"

Bellatrix ignored the last bit. "And it wasn't as though Rodolphus cared. He's also so accommodating of my desires."

Andromeda said, very softly "Then you and McNair?"

"Where did you hear that?"

Andromeda looked innocent. "Around."

"Remind me to silencio Lucius and then cut his vocal cords. Yes, Meddie, Walden and me. Severus and me, for that matter."

Andromeda's eyes were dinner plates. "You and _Snape_?"

"Mmm hmmm. Does ickle Meddie want details?"

Andromeda shivered. "Thank you, I've quite enough nightmares like it is."

Bellatrix took her sister's hand again. "You can always come and sleep here with me, Meddie. Now, let's do something with that hair, it's a mess." And the tradgedy of it, thought Andromeda, is that she really doesn't understand what she's become.

She remembered what Daddy had said. "Loving her for who and what she was isn't the same as sympathising with what she's become, Newt. The last bits of our Trixie are inside her. Perhaps knowing she's loved will keep them from fading entirely."

Hermione was still bleeding steadily, all that night and into the next day. She was quite lucid, when awake, and insisted she felt fine. Her skin was marble, pale and cold. Draco was with her constantly, lavishing her with attention and affection, wanting to reassure her and himself that they still had one another.

"Draco?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you remember in the Room, when I said we had to take all the time we could together, because-"

"No,hush. Please, don't."

"It's better now. You aren't in danger."

"Hermione…"

"Can we look at my album, Draco?"

Something fell out, a rigid kind of card.. Draco studied it. There was a lady on the front, dressed like a penguin and garlanded by roses. Someone had written something on the back. 'It is not the size of the sacrifice, but the love with which we give it*.'

"Some goddess?"

"No. This was my Nan's." Hermione didn't elaborate, and he didn't press, but he found himself thinking about it from time to time all the same.

Three days after the ceremony, Molly Weasley returned, trailed by the two boys and a cooing, laughing Teddy. He had rapidly become the pet of the Burrow, just as he was the pet of the manor. She'd owled Augusta Longbottom, who'd firecalled Luna, and the women, with Neville, showed up not ten minutes after. "Narcissa, what can we do?"

In short order, the women were engaged in the running of Malfoy manor to free Narcissa to spend time with the family and see to the important things. Augusta, in her usual businesslike way, was directing the elves as to the laundry, offering her own clean towels and sheets, giving lists of what would need to be bought, and cutting new baby clothes from the bolts of cloth which were given her by the seamstress elf.

Luna was busy presented a tray of potions ingredients Snape was using at a fantastic rate, and set to cutting and peeling and slicing and coring without a word. Neville went with Ridgey to see about forcing some of the plants in order to procure certain needed things which ordinarily didn't bloom until spring at the earliest.

Molly was talking with Lirry, helping select menus which would allow a range of mealtimes, as well as keep on the stove for long while. She wrote a few letters to tradesmen, canceling some orders and increasing others, and arranged enough basics to accommodate a large number for a prolonged period of time.

The Floo went just before noon, and a scowling Pansy Parkinson stepped through. "Mother told me to come." Antigone smiled maliciously. "How dear of Aunt." She didn't mention the letter she'd had Alecto send, and that Xanthippe had been quite drunk when she penned the reply.

"You can help me. First thing is helping the elves make invalid's tea. This century, Pansy, move."

Narcissa, rings under her eyes, smiled gratefully when she came from Hermione's bedside at dusk. "You are all so good. Would you like your turn seeing her?"

"Yes, please." They tramped upstairs as a group. Snape was standing at the door, looking even sallower than he had been. "You may go in two at a time, no more than five minutes. Potter and Weasley first."

Neville turned to Snape. "We've worked out a way to force the Windelwort, but it's chancy."

Snape blinked. "Longbottom? You aren't wetting yourself in terror."

"Right. Anyhow, is it possible you might owl Professor Sprout and ask her for a copy of her private notes on Windelwort? She'd be the best one to ask."

Snape looked at him a bit more. "What changed?"

Neville blew through his teeth in frustration. "I faced Bellatrix, and you're not half as scary. Not to mention, Hermione is in there…she needs us. This is no time to be a gobshite about it."

Snape would've laughed if he hadn't been so tired. "Quite. I'll owl straightaway."

Hermione smiled weakly at her two best friends. "You… came." The boys couldn't hide their shock. Hermione had always been so vital, and now it seemed a struggle for her to speak.

"Course we did. Ginny sends her love. She's home for a visit. She'll come tomorrow and tell you all about training."

"And look' Ron reached into his robes' pockets and pulled something out. It was a tiny Hogwarts, with bitty gold and scarlet bunting draped from every window and parapet. He held it so he could see and nodded to Harry, who passed a hand in front of it. It opened to reveal the Great Hall, and a ball going on. The tiny dancers spun round and round, happy and safe in their little world.

"Oh, Ron…Draco, would you…put it…where I can see?"

"There, love, is that right?" Draco pushed a curl off her forehead and clasped her hand, proprieties be damned. She looked at him with love and longing and made an effort not to sound sick as she talked to her friends.

"Yes. It's… so beautiful." Hermione smiled again and her eyes slid shut for a second. She opened them again with effort. "How nice… you all came. We appreciate it… don't we,… Draco?"

"Yes, my darling, very much. Perhaps Lovegood and Longbottom would like to come in?"

Hermione had less energy this time. She trailed off, stared into space, mumbled as often as she spoke. "It's almost time for the blood replenisher."

Antigone bustled in, carrying a covered basket and trailed by her scowling cousin. "Mr. Longbottom, would you go and ask Professor Snape to send nutrient potion, please? I'd send an elf but they're all busy. Pansy, I need your help."

Pansy's inner thoughts were a muddle of anger and self pity. How dare Antigone make her do house elf work? Since noon, she'd helped brew a horrid smelling batch of strengthening tea, cut up old tablecloths for rags and towels, overseen the scrubbing of a chamber pot(!) and written letters to excuse the Malfoys from their social obligations. Just because her cousin was barren and content to play mother to the mudblood didn't mean…Antigone pulled the duvet aside.

Granger was lathered with blood from the waist down, shivering violently and murmuring to herself. There was an unspeakable smell in the air. "Hurry, Pansy. I'll take up the old towels and you spread new down." She did it, carefully not touching the bloody soaked rags.

Pansy was struggling not to vomit, or scream, or faint. Maybe all three. She'd never seen anything like this, never. If she'd married Draco, this could have been her. She spread down the new towels and automatically took the basket when Antigone thrust it at her. "Laundry's on the second floor, toward the west, and tell the elf to send thicker, these get soddened too easily. Hurry, go."

Pansy was so busy not fainting she literally tripped over Weasley. Well, his feet. The basket went flying, sending bloodied towels everywhere. Ron went so white his freckles looked like sultanas in pudding. He gagged, and stumbled toward the closest balcony. Pansy followed, leaving Luna to spell everything up and go silently as a ghost toward the laundry, stopping to ask Lucius Malfoy the directions on the way.

In the fresh air, they both gasped. "That's awful."

Pansy wasn't sure she'd ever feel normal again. She couldn't shake the feeling that might have been her lying there, bleeding her life away. Weasley was clutching the railing with panicked tightness.

"I can't…she…it's that bad?"

Pansy nodded weakly. "It's everywhere. I don't know how…" She forced her gorge down and swayed in place. "She's going to come for me. Antigone."

"I could see if they'd let you take a walk to clear your head. There has to be elf that can help for a moment." She nodded and he walked until he found Molly.

"Mum, Parkinson looks ready to sick up. Couldn't she have a few moments to calm down?"

Molly smoothed his hair. "Keep her company, Ronnie, to see she doesn't faint."

Ron was prepared to object when he caught sight of Malfoy. His clothes had a wrinkled look that suggested they'd been slept in. He not shaved, and the bruises under both eyes suggested he'd not slept, either.

Ron was sure he'd never really like Malfoy. The man he hated, his childhood bully who'd married the girl Ron loved…the man who'd raged at Hermione's collapse…who'd told them to come so they could share whatever time she had left…who hadn't slept or bathed in over a day…Ron felt his eyes ache. Not for himself, he realised, but for Malfoy, who was watching his wife slowly fading, and for Hermione, who'd only ever wanted to do good and be good.

"Yes, Mum. If anything should…"

"Of course, dear."

Ron nodded and went to collect Parkinson, who'd come back inside to see what was taking so long. She, too, caught sight of Malfoy. Unlike Ron, she had gained no particular insight about anything from her rejection by Draco. She hated Hermione, and still wanted Draco with a sort of bitter, thwarted desire.

He was leant against a wall, shoulders shaking. That big lummox Goyle was next to him, looking almost as tired as he. "You have to eat, mate. Have to."

Draco shook his head. "I'm fine, Greg."

"Aren't. You won't do her any good making yourself sick."

"Shut up. I'm fine. I just need to sit down a moment." Pansy walked over to Draco and found herself mimicking the older women who surrounded her. "Goyle's right. Why don't Weasley and I go and get some of that custard you like?"

Draco shook his head blearily. "Didn't know you were here, Parkinson."

"Well, I am. And some pasties? You love Lirry's pork and apple pasties."

"I can't. I don't want to-"

Ron was behind Pansy. "Come on, mate. It'll take three seconds. Just a little something and then you can go back in, all right?" Harry nodded firmly and gave Malfoy his best Snape look for good measure.

Having been dog-piled that way, Draco surrendered. Greg convinced him to lie down on the little divan while Weasley and Parkinson fetched the food. Pansy knew the way handily; Ron hadn't believed he'd ever need see the inside of the Malfoy manor again.

"Where are all the elves?"

"Helping with the extra chores. Snape needs loads of help and so does the laundry elf. And there are more people here who need meals and things like that than the elves are used to."

"Nice of Madam Goyle to care for her that way."

Pansy nodded. "She doesn't trust the elves to do it properly, I suppose." Harry had been quiet the whole time, lost in thought, but he was actually sort of gratified to hear Parkinson say something nice for a change.

They sent the kitchen elves for what was needed—pasties and a tureen of soap, custard and mugs of butter beer. With an elf carrying everything, they made their way back. Greg woke Draco and pressed a mug of butter beer and a pasty on him. It was gone in three bites.

"Why don't you shower and nap, Draco? She'll be all right. We'll wake you if something happens."

"No." He gulped a bowl of soup and ate another pasty, frowning balefully. Harry set his own mug down.

"Listen, Malfoy, Hermione wouldn't want us to let you get sick. Remember that time she punched you third year? That'll be all of us if we don't keep you well." He repeated the Snape look and Draco, swallowing his own drink, said "Fine, as long as you promise never to make that look again. Your face'll freeze like that."

"Two Snapes. Ugh!" They all smiled a little, until a voice said "Yes, and wouldn't that be horrible?" They all jumped from habit and stared guiltily as Snape, holding a phial of potions, gave them his Look, which Potter's was a mere fraction of, by the way.

"Not at first, Headmaster, but if there were two, the one would kill the other and then we shouldn't have any." Greg was totally straight faced, and Snape raised his eyebrow and said "Quite."

Harry snorted. "There can only be one."

"Yeah, that's what I said." Harry remembered he was surrounded by Purebloods and shook his head.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy?"

"We did a special ritual a few days ago and it hasn't helped much. Perhaps you'd do one at Grimmauld Place, since you're effectively the last Black?"

"What do I do?"

"Father will tell you. He's in his study, I think." And so Harry Potter, who still found Lucius Malfoy skin crawling, went to ask him what he should to help save Hermione's life.

When the bleeding hadn't stopped or even slowed by dawn the next morning, Antigone came into Hermione's room, followed by Narcissa and her sister. She draped a white sheet on the floor, knelt on it, and began to tug pins from her hair, one at a time. They rained down like hail, until her hair was hanging to her waist.

She took the scissors herself and cut everything she could reach. Narcissa did the rest, and then twined the strands into a braid, tied with string. Andromeda came next, and Narcissa braided that as well.

A witch's hair was a symbol of her standing; maidens with their long loose hair and engaged and married witches with neat, carefully done chignons. It showed a woman valued tradition, wanted her husband to find her beautiful, was proud of who and what she was.

The women had given all that for Hermione. They showed the ancestors what they would lose to see Hermione well again, offered any sacrifice to make their loved one well again. Narcissa wished she could give hers, to match their sacrifice with hers. Hers would only be cut if Hermione…she pushed the thought away and instead carried the two braids down and laid them as an offering on the altar stone.

When the others arrived to help, Luna immediately offered hers as well. She was an unmarried woman; she had no social standing to offer, but she had pleasures of girlhood, sweethearts and frolics and fun.

With the sharp clack of Antigone's shears, she gave all that up. Her hair had even more value than that of Andromeda and Antigone; Luna's braid was a pledge not to marry until her hair was long again. Narcissa ordered rosemary and honeysuckle twined into it, as a symbol of Luna's loving generosity and fidelity to her friend.

To everyone's absolute shock, Pansy demanded hers be cut, too. She's always been so vain, Pansy, about her hair. But cut it they did, and put it with Luna's. She never told anyone, for her whole long, long life, the real reason she'd done it; in gratitude that it was not she bleeding in the bed, she dying in the silent room as the snow fell outside.

When the people in the Park found out, Alecto sent her hair as well, and Galvin a letter asking to speak to Shacklebolt. The Minister came and they spoke a long while, huddling around the fire.

"You're quite sure, Galvin?"

Galvin looked grim. "No. Never going to be sure, Minister. But this is the only way I can see to end this, and avenge Polybus and Polycarp."

"I don't like it, but I understand your position. And I suppose I could arrange a pardon for yourself and Madam Carrow, if things work out. You'll need to leave the country for a while, but…"

Neither of them seemed enthused. "Be enough knowing we did what's right."

Alecto said nothing. Had she known Shakespeare, she might have called herself Lady Macbeth; perhaps she'd not done every evil deed, but she'd helped. When He'd spoken, had she not cheered? And Galvin, perhaps was Macbeth. He had no illusions as to his ability to undo the damage he had done, but like Macbeth, he would die in harness rather than waiting for the end.

And when she slept, she saw things. What kind of life would she have, with the faces of those she'd killed for company? Every child would start writhing under the Cruciatius in her mind's eye; every muggle would be bloodied, defiled, dying. No, she looked forward to nothing about this; but it was better than the alternative by a long chalk.

They left early the next morning, just as the mid-witch told Draco that there would induce Hermione as soon as the Goyles were back from their mysterious errand.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:**

**Darlings,**

**So much happy news! I can hardly tell you all, but must warn you that some rather indelicate things are mentioned below. Do be careful. Our darling Countess Black was as good as always. **

**Do write soon, we await you eagerly,**

**Narcissa Malfoy**

The mid-witch handed Draco the phial. He put a hand under Hermione's neck and her eyes opened blearily. "Draco?"

"Yes, precious. Drink this for me?"

"What's'it?"

He smiled. "Today is a special day, Hermione. Know why?"

She tried to shake her head and gasped as her stomach roiled. "No."

"Because today's the day we meet our baby, love."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Too early. It'll die."

"Madam Malfoy, we have no choice.. With the unknown effects of that curse, and the high doses of potions we're giving you…the effects could be catastrophic."

"Prolonging the …inevitable?"

"Something like that."Hermione opened her mouth and swallowed.

"How long?" Draco's knowledge of female anatomy, to say the least, murky. Twenty or thirty minutes, perhaps, until she'd had the baby?

The healer smiled slightly. "Hard to say. Shall I tell the others you want some privacy?"

The portraits had been moved from the room so Hermione could labour in peace. They were well and truly alone. "Draco?"

He looked at his wife. Her lips were so pale they were almost purple, and her hair was wild. She'd never looked so beautiful to him as she did then. "Yes, my darling?"

"Hold me?"

"It's not sa-"

"Won't matter…soon…either way." She looked determined, and so he peeled back the covers and gently set her in his lap, rocking. She closed her eyes. "This is so…nice."

"I love you, Hermione."

"Love you…too. Am I…still…your little girl?" Draco held her closer. "Always. It'll be all right, you'll see. The baby will be fine, and when you're better we'll go somewhere, just the three of us. And I've an idea for your Christmas gift. Want to know what it is?"

Hermione shook her head. "Surprise. Still have…my muffler?"

"Of course I do." She motioned to her neck. "Take Granddad…back. He wouldn't…want to see this."

Draco stroked her hair. "I'll give him back second you're well. We still haven't got a name for the baby."

"Have to see…boy or girl."

"Quite. I suppose Salazar is right out?"

She laughed as the first gentle, almost furtive contraction seized her and an ache settled in her spine. Her body was readying itself for the struggle to come.

Galvin settled himself in the little pile of blankets they'd made him. He was a deeply devout man, and what they were doing troubled him. Not as much as what they were preparing to do, but it troubled him all the same.

The unquiet dead, he believed, should be left alone, ignored by the living as much as the living wished to be ignored. He hadn't been able to suppress a shudder when his son had brought forth the brazier from the Keep and lit it, sprinkling the asphodel in with silent economy.

Galten had looked to him to chant the prayers and petitions and he had done, calling Polybus Mallow to come and avenge himself, to join the ancestors and free his soul by fulfilling his vow to his inlaws' house.

Nothing. No breeze, no changes, no smells. They kept trying until Antigone calmly went to the brazier and pricked her finger into it.

"You always were a selfish cunt, you know that? All those years you made it my fault Mam was sick, and then you told everyone you'd not let me marry for being tainted. Changed your mind when Malfoy offered you gold, that was for sure. And now you can't even be bothered to come and help us? What else have you to do? No wonder Mam was daft; it was living with you did it, you son of a whore." And with that she kicked the brazier over.

The response was immediate. There came a terrible banging from down the hall, the door flew open and closed again, and foul smell seeped in. Alecto recovered herself first. "Antigone Hecuba!"

"It's all any of us were thinking, Auntie."

Galvin gave his daughter in law a Look. "_Antigone_."

"Well, it is. Can't even bestir himself to help us avenge his murder."

"Why don't we try another?" Greg suggested, partly because he wanted to get the ancestors on this and partly because he wanted to hurry back so he could congratulate Tiggy on cursing like a troll.

"Like who, Greg?"

"Try her. Hecuba."

" Greg, Hecuba…"

"Killed herself, yeah. But might be she feels bad enough to want to help us."

They all digested this in silence. "Worth a try."

So they lit the brazier again, and called on Hecuba to come from the Great Wastes to help them, to earn the place with the ancestors she'd abdicated with that fatal shard of porcelain. Alecto stepped up.

"Hecuba? It's Allie. Come home, we need you. Antigone needs you. Come home." She waved her wand and the first rune vanished. The flames flared higher and Galvin saw Greg's eyes widening. He shivered but gave his son a look to tell him to dummy up.

Galvin swished his wand and the second rune designed to keep the woman's shade trapped in the walls vanished. The flames leapt higher.

The third rune. A terrible and heavy thumping came from down the hall. It took the strength of every person in the room not to break the holy silence and run to see what it was. Smells too—medical smells, death, perfume, oranges, wine, incense, sweets.

"Mam?" The fourth rune. There were sounds now, laughter and screaming, the whistle of trains and the roar of fire. "Mam, are you there?"

The fifth and final rune. The fire leapt wildly and Greg smelt something like blood and cologne all mixed, blood and jonquil. He stepped back sharply, made himself go no further. " She's here. Hecuba."

Galten did as he had for Polybus. "Avenge your son and reclaim your place amongst the ancestors. Through this act, be your duty done. Will you help us? Give us a sign." The windows rattled and the bedstead was lifted up, floated briefly and set down.

"It's settled, then." The owl they'd borrowed from the Malfoys was carefully given the letter and told to find Walden McNair, or failing that, Rodolphus. Galvin had hated writing that letter. It was full of dreadful things, untrue things.

He hugged each of the children. "If I ever hear you use language like that again, I'll send you for my belt, and that's no lie. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." But he winked at her before he'd embraced the others and then sent them on their way, with a final bit of advice. "They'll say I mean the things in the letter, and I don't. But you know that." And they did. So, protected by the ghost of a suicide and sitting with his lover, he waited for them to send something back so he start to spring his trap.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, and touchingly, Percy, had all done the ritual exactly as Lucius Malfoy had taught them. Dressed in street clothes and woozy from the enormous amount of opium they had all inhaled, they Floo'd to the Burrow, where Molly was waiting with breakfast and news that Hermione would be having the baby soon.

"So we'll go after we've eaten."

"Suppose it should be born before we get there, Mum?" Molly laughed. "A first baby? I shouldn't think so, Ginny."

Had Draco heard the conversation, he would have understood exactly why Molly laughed. He had fidgeted and sighed and grumbled so much that Mother had finally sent him to sit with Father in the study.

Lucius smiled to see his son and stood to gesture him to sit. "How goes it?"

"Slowly. Did I take this long, Father?"

Lucius snorted. "Malfoys never hurry, Draco. You took nineteen hours to decide you wanted to make an appearance."

Draco called for some tea. "Tell me about it? Please?"

Lucius nodded and started. "The day before you were born, Mother said to me that…"

Hermione was lying on her side, pillow between her knees. She felt fine. Draco had been making her nervous, and secretly, she felt a little glad Mother had made him take a break. "What happened …then, Mother?"

"I was pushing, and the mid-witch told me just a little more, and then Draco was born, so they bathed him and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and gave him to me. He was the prettiest baby, wasn't he, Tibby?"

Tibby nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, having curls of blond hair."

"He did, and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen. So Father came in and he held him and asked what I'd decided to name him. And I said 'Draco' because my family always chooses star names. Have you chosen a name yet?"

"Draco and I… discussed it." Narcissa smoothed the girl's hair and sighed. " Well, you've ten days to decide, love, so don't rush. Could you try and sleep?"

"Yes, Mother. Ask…Draco to…come?"

"Of course." As soon as Draco appeared, Narcissa gave him a Look. "Draco Lucius, did you forget to tell Hermione she chooses the baby's name?"

"I was hoping we could find something we could agree on her and then tell her, Mother."

She couldn't keep from smiling. "You get more like Father every day."

"I know. Wonderful, isn't it?"

She laughed. "Yes, my darling, it is. She'll likely be here several more hours with no change. Why don't you nap?"

Draco nodded and ordered an elf to move the sickbed so he could watch Hermione, and was asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Narcissa covered him with a flick of her wand and turned to Tibby. "I want you to go and check on Trixie."

Tibby bowed and DisApparated into Bellatrix's room in the tower. She was lying on her back, hands behind her head, watching the hunting scene on the ceiling play out. "Miss Trixie?"

"Hello, Tibby. Where are my sisters?"

"They is being busy. We is coming instead."

"Obviously. What could they be doing at this ho…oohhhhh. The mudblood is having the baby, isn't she?"

"Yes, Miss Trixie."

Bellatrix rubbed her hands together with glee. "I'll be seeing ickle neffie, then, when the mudblood starts to bleed. What fun!"

Tibby had served wizards for decades. She knew and loved them, understood how childish and impulsive and delicate they were. But this was too far. She left without a single word more, which surprised Bellatrix enough that she stopped laughing…for a moment.

He sat up as soon as the whimpering penetrated his sleep starved brain. "Hermione?"

She managed a smile. "I'm…all right. Just a…bad…backache…Draco."

Another contraction hit and Hermione grimaced painfully, biting her lip and balling her hands into fists. It passed and she fell back, breathing hard. Narcissa cooed and stroked the hair from Hermione's forehead. "There there, love. Isn't there something for the pain?"

The mid-witch shook her head. "It might stop the labour."

Hermione said "Muggle women sometimes suck… ice during… labour. May I try… that?"

The mid-witch blinked. "All right. It'll keep you hydrated, at least."

A big silver bowl was brought from the kitchen, filled with chipped ice which Lirry had flavoured with rhubard syrup and a little sweetened cream. Hermione took some in her mouth, chewed, relaxed. "That's…better." She wasn't thirsty, at least.

Draco and Narcissa looked at one another. Surely the ancestors would be appalled at this sort of deviation from the old ways… but it had helped, and so they'd do it. All the same, they'd make an extra sacrifice, just so no one's nose got out of joint.

When the Floo flared, Lucius Malfoy rose to greet his guests. Molly was holding a covered dish, while the girl had Teddy, and a whole host of males spilled forth. "Lucius, you know Ron and Ginny, but I'm not sure you've met Percy and George." Potter was there too, looking thoughtful.

They shook hands, not without some wariness. "If you'll forgive the presumption, Mr. Malfoy, I thought I could help you draft a press release about…what's happening."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley, I'd appreciate that." The other boy, who hair hung over his ears like some sort of ruffian, just nodded. "I don't know what I'm good for."

"Nonsense, George, Teddy adores you. Why don't you take him to the nursery and read him a book?" The young man sighed, following Lemmy, utterly resigned to being nurse maid. Lucius turned to Molly, who was already rolling up her sleeves. "Now, Lucius, what might we do?"

It dragged on like that for hours. Every so often the adults would swap places, so that Lucius and Narcissa would have a chance to rest, bathe and see to their own needs. Andromeda bullied them both into a nap after dinner was served, and sat with the Weasleys while they waited.

During one of the Goyles' breaks, Antigone turned to her brother in law."Greg, go and get the trunk at the foot of the bed, please. And something of yours, too." He nodded and came back five minutes later with the requested items, shrunk to doll size. Antigone resized it, dug and came up with a man's shirt and a ladies' apron, shrinking everything else back again.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley? Miss Weasley? Is there something you should like to add to the tenth day dress?"

After a brief explanation, Harry and Ron Floo'd to their respective houses and snatched up some piece of themselves to offer the new baby. Ron brought a Weasley sweater he'd outgrown, and Harry a muggle t-shirt he'd meant to throw away and a scarf Gin'd left at his place.

They brought them back in time to see Antigone snip a bit of Greg's old Bludger's jersey off and sew it into the hem of the baby gown, along with the scraps from her and Galten. Both boys handed over their bounty, and it joined the rest.

All the teenagers had the same thought—was it always this boring, waiting for a baby? They rued their thoughts when the first groan carried down to where they were. They listened a long, long time, praying with every bit of themselves that it would get boring again.

Draco cringed as Hermione went rigid, biting her lip. Her back arched and her hands beat at the bed. It was a gruesome, terrible parody of all the times he'd smacked her and she'd reacted in just this way. He was seeing their life together played out here on the bed.

She relaxed. "Sorry. That was…a…bad one."

"Don't be, love. Scream, if you need to."

She shook her head. "It's…not so…bad."

The mid-witch shook her head. "I've no idea how she's tolerating this so quietly."

Lucius smiled bitterly. "Because Hermione's never been trouble for anyone if she could help it." He made it sound like a curse, which it was. Would her parents have discouraged her crying if they'd know this would come of it? Would they have sent her to that horrible woman's house? He wet the cloth and bathed her face.

"More ice?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. May we…talk? You and…I?"

"Of course, love. Everyone else will go in the salon to wait." His tone brooked no arguments, The mid-witch agreed allow him to cast silencio, as long as she was in the room. She turned to her notes and started organising them to give the two in silence bubble a little privacy.

"Father?"

"I'm here. Shhhh. Just rest."

"If anything…happens…watch Draco. Might hurt….Bellatrix."

"I know."

"Find them? Mum…and Dad. Tell them…"

"All right. Shhhhh."

"We were…happy. So happy.' Hermione arched with a contraction, groaning and tensing, and Lucius found himself desperate to fix it. He talked to her as gently as he could, wiped her forehead after. She looked at him with big, pain filled eyes. "I was …loved…wasn't…I?"

"You are loved. Everything will be all right, I promise." There, he'd said it. Hermione shook her head slowly.

"Can't…promise. Only…hope for…the best." Galten came to take his turn, and Lucius left, deep in thought. All the world hates a kinslayer…but the world wasn't watching Hermione die. He went and quietly found Andromeda.

"Andromeda, I need a favour."

"Anything, Lucius." She poured him a goblet of water and motioned for him to sit. "Go and ward Trixie's door."

"Ward it?"

"Against Draco and myself."

She understood. "You're a strong man, Lucius."

"Not strong enough."

Andromeda had no answer for that, and so she left.

When the Longbottoms arrived(followed shortly by Pansy), there was still no change. The mid-witch, looked frazzled, was speaking with Snape in the corner while the children huddled round the divan, whey faced. Augusta could feel death creeping slowly through the corridors and staircases of the house, lingering in every conversation, screaming into the silence.

"Isn't there something we can do?"

Augusta adjusted her shawl and dropped to sit on her heels. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" Neville first, then the others, mimicked her position. "Ancestors, hear us."

"Hear us and move quickly to our aid."

"Accept our petitions."

"And answer them with speed." Harry didn't know the responses, but he drew comfort from the sounds of their voices and added his own silent prayer: don't let her die like this. Not after Gringotts and Totenham Court Road and all the rest.

The mid-witch carried a phial of something nearly clear. As soon as the contraction had passed, she handed it to Draco. "Give this to your wife, and then go and sleep for a while, you look terrible."

"You look wonderful yourself, then! What is it?"

The mid-witch looked down. "Castor oil. It should speed things, but if you want to help, you'll need to be rested. It will take a few hours to start working."

Draco was on the verge of a truly nasty response when Lucius stepped forward and said "Yes, Healer, of course' and gave Draco a Look that promised serious consequences unless he stopped. Draco blinked tears of exhaustion and did as he was bidden.

"Darling, can I get you anything?"

"Draco?"

"Yes, love?"

"Don't hurt…her. Enough are…dead. Promise?"

Draco bit his cheek. "Hermione, I-"

"Draco?"

"I promise, love." He rose and allowed himself to be led from the room by his father. Lucius took him to his own rooms and called Minky. "Bathe the young Master, and help him into something comfortable."

Draco was beyond protest, almost beyond thought. He stood numbly while Minky soaped him and shaved him and washed his hair, and helped him into soft trousers and a pullover.

Lucius was sitting on the divan. "Come here, Draco."

Draco did. "Lie down, love. You're having a sleep."

"She might need me."

"Hermione needs you alert. That's the boy." He was slightly startled when Draco put his head in his lap, as he did when he was small, but said nothing. "I promised her. About Trixie."

"Yes, you did."

"It's not fair, is it?"

"No. Now go to sleep." Draco drifted.

At midnight, the mid-witch announced that things might go faster if Hermione changed positions. Narcissa's head jerked sharply. "You've spent weeks telling us not to move her. Isn't this a bad idea?"

"Anything that will help the baby come faster is better than nothing, Madam Malfoy."

The woman instructed Draco to stand with his back to the corner, and enlisting Lucius' help, they carefully helped Hermione over so she could lean against Draco's chest, hoping the shift would ease her back pain and help the baby come.

Draco locked his arms about her waist. "Good thing we practiced this one so much, hmmm?"

The rest of the people in the room didn't hear the conversation, but what they did hear was more amazing by far. Hermione, in the throes of labour, put her head back and laughed, hard, with her husband. It helped her find a well of strength in herself, a sort of determination to go just a bit farther. She'd faced down a werewolf and duled Bellatrix Lestrange...she could surely stand, safe in her husband's arms, and just be loved, couldn't she?

After nearly an hour, the door to the corridor opened. "Hermione is walking the floor. Mister and Madam Goyle, would you like a turn?"

They did, and after them was Greg. "Are you all right, Hermione?"

"I'm having a… baby, Greg." Her determination was strong. Even the contractions weren't quite as bad. Not that she was having a good time, but courage can do a lot, and it had held . and she was glad.

"Well, yeah, but besides that." Draco, on Hermione's other side, snorted. "Goyle, there is no 'beside that' right now."

"Guess you'd know. Custard misses you."

"I miss… her, too."

Greg smiled. "Rose says for me to tell you she's not impressed."

"What are you on about, Goyle?" If he dared upset her, friend or no friend, Draco would do the Amycus on him. Muggle style. Greg just kept smiling.

"She says you always led her to expect the best, and haven't let her down. She loves you so much." Tears rose to Hermione's eyes.

"Thank… you, Greg. I needed… to hear that."

Even Harry and Ron, blushing violently, got a turn. Hermione was panting with effort. "Got lazy…in bed all…the time."

"Lazy, Hermione? Not you."

She suddenly bent double and gasped. The mid-witch motioned to Galten and he came and lifted her back into the bed. "It's almost time to push." Harry and Ron half ran into the other room. As the door swung shut, the mid-witch said something, confusingly, about broken water.

In fact, Hermione felt it run down her legs as Galten helped her back in the bed. "Mr. Malfoy—no, the younger one-sit with your back to the door. Now, Madam Malfoy, sit in his lap. Yes, like that." Hermione was sitting with her legs dangling when the mid-witch , propped against Draco's chest, sitting between his open thighs. The mid-witch placed a stool at her feet to brace herself with when the time came.

Lucius quietly stood and gestured to Galten, who went with him into the little sitting room and closed the doors. The portraits had been waiting just as long as the others, and deluged him with questions.

"Are you feeling the urge to push?"

"No, not… yet."

"Take this chance to rest, then." Hermione leant against her husband and snuggled into his neck. "It's…so…strange."

"What is, love?"

"Night…in…library. Now…a…baby? Who'd…guess?"

"Quite. We'll stay just like this, my darling, so don't push until you're damned good and ready." Hermione swallowed some ice and offered a little to Draco, too. "Tibby?"

Tibby appeared, weeping. "Young Madam?"

"You're…a…wonderful…elf. I…love…you." Tibby burst into tears and then got hold of herself. "Is young Madam needing something?"

"Just wanted…to…tell you." Hermione stiffened and then, bracing her feet on the stool, bore down, grunting softly. "Ahhhhhh."

Every few minutes, she did it again. Sweat was pouring off Hermione in sheets; her hair was matted to her neck. She'd push, grunting and straining, and then fall back panting as though she'd run far on a hot day.

Draco directed Tibby to keep feeding her the ice. "That's my girl. Doing so well, Hermione, we're so proud of you."

The pains were closer together, harder, faster. Hermione was gasping, groaning in her agony. Outside, the others waited with hushed, nervous tension for news of what was going on. They could hear her, off and on, and Malfoy's voice, low and soft.

"Mum? Don't women usually scream and yell?"

"Some do, love. But some don't, too. I never did."

Harry took Ginny's hand and smiled. She smiled back, newly shorn hair a cute, bouncy little cap. He wished that Hermione had got what he and Ginny were having; a chance to relax and enjoy one another. Not that he minded the thought of a niece or nephew to love and spoil; but the cost was so high, and might not yet be paid.

Another groan and a low, keening cry. "Ahh! Ahhh!"

The moment was approaching. Hermione's world was the pain inside her, the baby struggling toward the light. She bore down, feeling as though her bones were snapping, and something tore. The mid-witch squatted and gently inserted a hand. "I feel the head."

Hermione braced herself and pushed, hard. Draco could feel her every muscle working, the sounds she didn't know she was making, and he held her, whispering his love for her, for their baby. Narcissa and Antigone were embracing one another, torn between excitement and terror.

A final gush of blood and the head appeared. "One more, one more."

The shoulders, with a deft turn from the mid-witch, and then the rest followed as Hermione gasped and fell backward, dripping sweat and nearly dead with exhaustion. The mid-witch held it up to the light and said simply "Alive." Tiny, bluish, facing a titanic struggle. But, through some miracle, alive.

Galten Goyle threw the door open and ran to the people waiting in the other room. "An ancestress has been born!"

The response was immediate. Harry picked Ginny up and spun her, laughing, as Greg threw his arms about his brother , both of them crying without shame. Augusta and Molly embraced, and Ron was so taken with the wonder of what had happened he did the unthinkable—he kissed Pansy Parkinson square on the mouth. And so thrilled were the assembled people that no one noticed.

Hermione fell backward, exhausted. The placenta was passed a moment later, without undo struggle, and then, changed into a clean gown, she was put back to bed. Draco ran to tell the men, and as Galten went to apprise the other, Lucius Malfoy came to meet his granddaughter.

She was curled in her mother's arms, a tiny creature in swaddling clothes. He bent and stroked the downy cheek with a finger which looked absurdly huge. "Hello, my darling."

Her eyes fluttered open. They were Malfoy grey, he noticed with some surprise. Hermione smiled weakly. "She's so little."

Lucius kissed her forehead. "For right now." The mid-witch took the baby and scanned her. "Lungs underdeveloped, heart rate low. We'll need to put her in stasis."

"All right." Snape took her reverently and tucked her in the cradle, sealing it with a stasis spell that would keep her alive while her lungs caught up with the rest of her. One by one, the rest of them came in to see the baby through the shimmering haze of the spell.

Galvin read the note and whooped with joy. "It's a girl!"

Alecto beamed. "How lucky for them. And the mudblood is all right?"

"Says she's fine. Wish we could go and see, Allie."

"So do I." They didn't dare. Lestrange had owled back, which meant they were being watched already. Tonight or tomorrow, it would be. Alecto slid a hand into his. "Let's celebrate anyway." And so they did.

Draco caught Snape as the man was walking to his rooms. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yes' said Snape, and meant it. He'd seen the tiny creature, and felt a seed of something in his heart. They'd worked so hard to keep her alive; there was still work to be done, surely, but this was a start. Draco reached out and hugged him. "Thank you, Godfather."

"You're welcome, Draco."

"Godfather? Did you give Hermione something?"

"How do you mean?"

"It seemed like she got stronger just before the baby was born. Was that you? A spell or charm?"

"No."

"No?"

Snape shook his head. "Love, Draco. Hers for the baby and yours for her and everyone else's." He'd seen many strange things in his time; the sight of Gregory Goyle weeping for joy had rather unhinged him, let alone the way Lovegood had danced and the two Weasley brothers burst spontaneously into song. Percy Weasley's rendition of 'Odo the Wizard' would be with him until he died.

As for Hermione, she was asleep. Her blood pressure was dropping rapidly; things had been set in motion, and she had her part to play. But that was for later; right now, she was deeply, happily, asleep.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:**

**This was a challenging chapter in terms of finding the right words to express some pretty painful and saddening concepts. I hope I've done it justice. Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**Last line is a reference to Dante. Lucius' remark about the dead is from Sophecles 'Antigone'( I think).**

Hermione was dreaming, and what she was dreaming was this:

_She was deep within the place where worlds merge and borders seep together. She stood at the nexus of a thousand lifetimes, feeling the joy and sorrow of them all. Here was everything that ever was, ever had been, ever would be, world without end. Here were the lives that had been lived before hers, and the ones that might have been had things been different, the chains which might have been forged in place of the one that linked her and Draco._

_Something cold gusted over her, something foul smelling, and she shivered. "We can't hold him much longer. It's slipping. The Mask." The sound came from all around her, everywhere and nowhere, and a thousand voices. _

_She held her ground. "What mask?"_

"_No man may wear two faces. The Mask is slipping."_

"_Whom do you mean?"_

_Another voice spoke up. "There are Masks and there are masks. Strip them away and see what's really underneath."_

_Hermione felt a cold little hand slip into each of hers. She looked right and could see nothing. She looked left and saw a nightgown clad child wet with blood. The girl tipped her face up and Hermione forced herself not to recoil. "There's thing due the living."_

_The child she couldn't see responded. "Yes, and things due the dead." _

"_The true face is what we are in the dark."_

"_They two shall rest...bridegroom and bride in the house of death."_

"_Tell him to come. Tell him what's due the dead."_

"_Come and see me, Hermione. Come when he's given what's due the dead." _

"Will she wake soon, Godfather?"

"Hard to say, Draco." Snape gently took Hermione's wrist, feeling the clammy coldness, the way the pulse moved so sluggishly.

Draco was biting his lip. "How can she be…she was all right…what happened?"

Snape braced himself. "It's possible, Draco, for a patient to rally before…"

"Before what?"

"She's strong, Draco. But even strength has it's limits."

Draco said nothing. Snape was glad Bellatrix's room had been warded, just from the look in Draco's eye.

They didn't come to Galten and Alecto for some days. They got regular reports from an elf who was sent to let them know what was happening. Hermione was still unconscious, it said. The baby, unnamed, lingered under a stasis spell which would give her lungs time to develop to match the rest of her.

On the third day, the elf brought a number of people over the wards. Rodolphus Lestrange grimaced at the foul smell and politely complimented Alecto on her new haircut. "Got tangled in the same fence which cut poor Galvin."

"How awful. And your leg now, Galvin?"

Galvin shook his head. "Weak, but I reckon I'm lucky to have kept it." He was, too. The scar on his leg was small, but every time he touched it, he remembered what had happened. Rodolphus looked politely pitying. "I've a job for you. You say your sons are at the manor?"

Galten hid the way his heart dropped. "Yeah."

"It so happens we need…"

Draco went to calm down, and when he returned, Hermione was awake. "Hermione!"

"Draco? The…baby?"

"She's fine, dearest. How are you?"

"Thirsty. Dizzy." Her chest kept catching, irritatingly. She tried to sit up from the pillows and fell back at once. "Had…funny dreams."

"What dreams, love?"

Hermione shook her head. It hurt too much to keep her eyes open and she let them close. "Blood…house of the dead. What does that mean?" Draco found himself clutching the seat of his chair with panicked tightness.

"I…"

"There was more. Something about you, isn't that strange?" His mind flashed on that night…blood on the floor, blood on the walls…and on a half remembered figure from the What Dreams May Come.

"Was it someone who told you all this?"

"Blood everywhere. I couldn't see…blood everywhere." Hermione shook her head and her stomach slid greasily. Draco caught her hand, held it a moment, and then set it down on the bed.

"I think there's something I should go and do. I'll get someone to sit with you, all right?"

"Mmmm hmmmm."

He went and found his father, to whom he explained. Lucius took a breath. "Galten and I haven't made an interpretation of the words yet, but if you think she spoke true, then go. The dead cast long shadows."

Draco called for his cloak and certain things to be brought in a traveling sack. Then he Apparated for the strangest and most desperate errand of his life.

The house was deserted; no one wanted to live in a place where so many people had died. He broke in. The cleaning crews had done a thorough job; the place reeked of chemicals and nothing else. Draco could still see it, under the new paint and wax; the blood was so bright, and it was everywhere. Broken shards of glass and torn pictures; bits of cloth, bits of flesh.

The elves had sent a portable brazier and everything else, and so he chanted the blessings and gave the offerings. Then he ripped a button from his shirt and transfigured it into a long pin, pricked his finger and fed the flames.

The air in the house, so still and old, flared, and Draco felt a chill down his spine. He took a sip of the wine, swished it around his mouth, spat it into the brazier to show them how desperate he was, that he'd give literally the wine he was drinking.

The air shifted again. Draco dropped the cake into the brazier. It was a small one— but then, the anima he was calling was very small, too. The smoke swirled, danced, and then she was there.

Draco cringed but did his duty. Dropping his head to the floor, he kissed the boards at the ghost child's feet. "Sorrow for my wrongs overcomes me. Ask of me anything in reparation and I bind myself to it's completion, small Madam."

He rose and looked at the little ghost. Blood was dripping slowly down both cheeks and vanishing to nothingness. The little girl put a thumb in her mouth and sucked for a second.

"The dead see all ends."

"Then you know…you know I never wanted…"

The little girl ghost nodded. "Yes. But that's not all, is it?"

"I think about all of you every day. I've done some horrible things, but…you hadn't. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong moment. I have my own little girl now…she's so tiny she doesn't have a name, even. I can't imagine what I would do if…I know I'm pants at this, but...'

"You love them both very much." The little girl looked at him from his shoulder and sighed deeply. "Love is a beacon. It draws us. Yours for your family has drawn me here. But nothing is without sacrifice."

'Ask me for anything and it's yours. I'll have your name carved into the walls of the tomb so every Malfoy will praise your kindness…I'll pay a ghost dowry for you as big as my girl's is…I'll bring you the hearts of everyone who wronged you, even mine. Just don't let them die!"

"What we are in the dark is what we really are."

Draco huffed. "Darling, I need a bit more guidance than that."

The ghost giggled. "She said you were like this."

"Who's she?"

The little ghost girl lifted chubby, transparent arms to him. "Pick me up."

He knelt up and opened his arms. The ghost came forward, and hugged his neck. She was like holding ice, but he rose all the same. "Is she my sister?"

The little ghost giggled and put her thumb back in her mouth for a moment, then said. "All that is in darkness shall be proclaimed in the light. Give what's due to the living and due to the dead. ' She wiggled to get down and started to lose form before his eyes 'I'd like a teddy and some sweets. And crayons."

About midnight, having left Professor Snape with the still nameless child and mother, the mid-witch went to St. Mungo's for some much needed rest and a meal. She happened to run into a collegue and chatted with the woman for a few minutes, standing near the desk by the door to the Mental ward.

"How are they taking it?"

"Like anyone would, I expect. They're all much less cold where the girl is involved."

"Will the baby make it, do you think?"

The mid-witch sighed hugely. "If there was ever a child kept alive by sheer force of will, I'd say this one is it."

The other healer shook her head. "My sympathies."

Neither of them noticed the orderly lurking in the shadows. He was good at not being seen. Predators are. He walked as quickly as possible from the area and Floo'd away as quickly as possible. He found Greyback and told him everything. Greyback laughed, and planned, and was well pleased.

Galvin sent something back with the elf when it came to tell them that Hermione and the baby yet lived. "She is being very small. Very, very small." The elf told them, tears in it's eyes, and Galvin breathed deeply to keep from doing the same. Poor little mite, perhaps it would be kinder if …he pushed the thought from his mind.

At the purloined house, Rodolphus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because we need to wait. We threw one wave against them and they fought us to a standstill. Perhaps in another month."

Greyback pounded the table so hard it split down the middle. "You puling, gutless, spineless excuse for a wizard, no wonder your wife will fuck anything that moves."

Rodolphus went still. "How dare you?" And then he'd drawn. Greyback moved past such niceties and into violence without a second thought. He snarled and was barely held back by two of his men. They exchanged a look behind his back; Greyback's temper was getting worse and worse. He never used to go off like this.

"Sometimes it's necessary to destroy a village to save it." Rookwood took another sip of his tea and coughed wetly. Collins smacked his back and the old man gasped thanks. "What good to us has Goyle been so far?"

"He did come back."

"Do we need him?"

"Augustus?"

The word came for them at dawn the next morning. Galvin and Alecto embraced silently and donned their cloaks. The Death Eaters met them at the edge of the property and they Apparated. Galvin was preparing to Apparate them in when the two stunners hit them in the back and they fell as one.

Alecto woke somewhere soft. She rolled over, wondering when the elf would wake her. Her first class was at nine thirty and she hoped her lesson plans were done. Sitting, she yawned, only to hear a cold, drawling voice not far from her head.

"Hello, Alecto. Looks like we're rooming together."

"Bellatrix?"

"In the flesh."

"Where am I?"

"Malfoy manor, of course. You're a lucky girl, Alecto, know why?"

Alecto shook her head. Bellatrix went ever onwards. "Because you're to help me, when the time comes."

"Rodolphus…"

"Betrayed you. He stunned you and left you for them to find."

"Then I'm a prisoner?"

"It's not so bad. It'll be like Hogwarts again, won't it?"

"Where's Galvin?"

"I wouldn't know. Not here. They took him with them, likely." Bellatrix smiled horribly at Alecto with her sharp, grey-black teeth. "Want to make sure you keep sweet, don't we?"

Hermione waited for Draco to get back until she drifted off. Snape had finally fallen asleep in the chair, and Draco had woken him and sent him back to his own rooms. He sat next to his wife and took her hand in his.. Sleep was taking her, and she let it.

_She found herself at Nan's house. Settled into the chair, waited for the door to open. And when it did, she stared in surprise which wasn't surprise at all. _

"_Drusilla."_

_The little girl was a miniature Narcissa, with huge eyes and a sweet, helpless little mouth. But Hermione could see Lucius, too, in the tilt of the girl's head and the way her eyes took in everything like it all belonged to her._

"_It took you long enough! I thought you'd never come." The little girl came and clamoured into her lap as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Grinning with excitement, she cuddled against Hermione a moment, just resting._

"_When you came here, Daddy asked me to watch you 'specially, you know."_

"_He did?"_

"_Of course. Said you're a good girl but trouble seems to find you." Drusilla toyed with the end of her hair ribbon. "You were awfully brave about that smacking you got from him, by the way. I wouldn't have been." She grinned again, and Hermione found herself grinning back._

"_Have you seen the baby?"_

"_Of course I have. We see everything, you know. Well, almost. We don't watch when people—you know, do private things. She's really a brilliant baby." Drusilla sighed suddenly._

"_Yes. But she's very ill." _

"_Nan Rose explained it to me. Auntie Trixie is very sick, she says. In the head. Like Antigone's Mam, and it made her hurt the baby."_

"_Yes." Hermione heard the door again and a young elf, resplendent in a snowy white pillowcase, came in with sweets. "Here is being tea, ladies."_

"_Peasy, mayn't we have some of that trifle?"_

"_It is being almost supper, Miss Drusilla."_

"_Yes, I know, but it's only a very little, and Hermione has to go back soon. Just a bite?" The little girl looked piteous, and Hermione laughed aloud. "You are so like Draco!"_

"_Well, yes. Who do you think I learnt it from?"_

_Hermione laughed again. It really was a very good trifle. "Hermione?"_

"_Yes, Drusilla?"_

"_I have things to tell you. Important things."_

"_All right." Drusilla frowned. She didn't like unhappy things, like how Draco was angry all the time or how Auntie Andromeda cried at night. Not since Grandpapa had come to her in a dream and scolded her, but she was still too sad for Drusilla's liking._

"_When the time is right, come and find me in the Inbetween. What we are in the dark is what we really are."_

"_What does that mean?"_

"_The false face and the true. Which is which?" Drusilla's eyes were far away and her voice had a hollow, reedy sort of tone that made Hermione's skin crawl. "The Mask is nearly gone now."_

"_What Mask, Drusilla?"_

"_The one that was the false face." She abruptly shook her head and smiled winningly. "I've messages, too, from everyone."_

_And she had. "Grandpapa is very happy with Auntie Andromeda because she's eating again lately, but she's skipped twice since Thursday. If she keeps this up it's the hairbrush for sure."_

_Hermione shuddered at the mere thought. "Ugh, poor Andromeda."_

"_Ask Draco to come and read to me, would you? He knows what I like."_

_Hermione nodded. "Anything else?"_

"_Loads, but not for right now. Nan Rose says she loves you, but you knew that."_

"_Tell her I love her, too."_

"_She knows. We all know." Drusilla nestled into Hermione's neck, smelling grown up soap and cologne and other things, mysterious things. She'd never have that; her death before the tenth day meant her eternity was perpetual maidenhood, always a girl yet unflowered. She didn't mind much, but to smell like this…she shook her head to clear it._

"_Draco did right well this afternoon. More than he had to, but that's all right."_

_Hermione nodded absently. "What shall I call the baby?"_

_Drusilla used all her Slytherin cunning. "Well, I suppose I wouldn't refuse a namesake."_

As Hermione woke, she remembered laughing, and the kiss the little girl put on her cheek, and the purple ribbon which dangled from her hair. She woke, feeling her damp skin and her cold, cold flesh, and gently shook her husband.

"Hmmmm?"

"Draco, I'd like…to go…and see…the baby."

"You're awfully weak, love."

"Please?" Draco lifted her in his arms and carried her, gently as he could, into the room which was a makeshift emergency nursery. The mid-witch had called them together and lectured them about how fragile the baby was, in every way, and how they couldn't make too much noise or over stimulate her, or else risk her shutting them out.

"Too much stimulus when her ears, let alone her mind, are unprepared would be very detrimental." The room was silent, with only the soft hum of the stasis field. Draco carried Hermione to the bassinet and held her as she slowly, cautiously, stood on her own feet.

"My…poor…baby."

Draco held his wife more tightly. "She's not in any pain, love."

"I…know. She's so…tiny."

He nodded. The baby _was_ tiny, with a head too large for her body, and a thatch of curly dark blonde hair and long eyelashes. She lay on her back, chest barely moving at all. He was reminded of a baby mouse, hairless and raw looking. Draco put his arms about Hermione and she leant into him. They stayed that way a very long time.

"Draco?" It was a whisper. He saw how parched her lips were, how big her eyes.

"Hermione?" He was whispering too. In her silent, motionless world, the baby waited to see whether her body could breathe this air, so different from the dark and comfortable privacy of the other place, the perfect peace of simply being.

"I've…chosen."

"Oh?"

"Drusilla."

His eyes filled. "Precious…". It was an ill omened name, perhaps, but given the improbable start of her life—of all their lives, since he'd caught Granger in the library after hours—would it matter? Perhaps she could remake the omen.

Hermione gasped as something wet touched her skin. She looked down and saw a wet patch on the front of her nightdress, and realised what was happening. Her body was ready to feed a child. Draco saw too. He carried her back, and set her in the bed.

"We'll call Lemmy, darling. She can fix this."

Lemmy helped Hermione express her milk. After, there was a sort of scratching at the door, and Draco opened it to find Custard staring up at him. He stepped back to let her pass, and tail high, she did, and jumped onto the bed.

Something was wrong here. Custard gave the human female's belly a poke with her paw. She remembered when the youngest of her Big Kittens had been born. This human female had had her kit, but where was it?

Hermione gently pulled the kneazle toward her and Custard moved close enough to allow Hermione to bury her face in the kneazle's ruff. "She's…sick."

Custard had birthed many kits in her day. She bore them, raised them, and then let them go. But sometimes one smelt off, or did not feed, or was ill made, and then, like a thief in the night, the Predator would steal in, and she would wake and find it gone.

Standing, she would pace the house, looking to see if she had hidden it. She would cry for her baby to come to her. It would not come. Bad baby, to scare her so. She would cry louder—perhaps it did not hear her—until her voice was hoarse and the Big Kittens came with kind words and scratches but never an explanation. The Predator had got it and it was gone, as though it had never been at all.

Kneazles can't talk, any more than they can weep. Custard understood all this on a level that transcended something as crude as speech to describe the horror and helplessness of those moments. She sat down on the bed and wailed, head thrown back, singing her sorrow and memory for Hermione, inviting her to join in.

Hermione sobbed once, drily, for the moisture in her was slowly leaking from her breasts, filled with milk her child could not use. Custard yowled again, and rested against Hermione's side, against her empty belly, and did all she could, which was nothing but be there, and understand.

There came a soft knocking at the door. Greg poked his head in. "Is Custard….oh." Galten was behind him, and he came in quietly. "Would you fancy a walk, Draco?" Draco looked to his wife, who nodded. "We'll be all right, Draco."

They walked into the cold night air, cloakless. "She's named the baby. Drusilla, like my sister."

Greg nodded. "The tenth day dress is almost done."

"Greg,I-"

"It's all right, mate. Don't have to say anything." Greg understood loss but he understood joy as well. The baby was alive right now, and so was Hermione. And that was enough. "Almost Christmas." Greg wouldn't mention his Da right now. Draco had enough on his mind.

"Yes." And Draco looked up at the stars, and felt a great wash of comfort. He'd done what he could, he realised, for now. The living and the dead were seen to; and so Draco and Greg stood in the cold air of a Wiltshire December and looked up to the stars.

**Spoiler A/N: I recently found a website in which the subject of cats and grief came up. The lady who owns the site wrote movingly of watching a cat searching for lost kittens, and it stuck with me.**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Draco says I'm the one has to write the note, because I'm the one broke the writing machine. The muggle bird was right nice about it, but I think she was sort of cross all the same. The kitten is well.**

** She liked very much that everyone sent their stories about their cats. Meant a lot to her.**

**Let me know if you think I should tell the muggle lady something also happened to her eye pod box. Will she be very upset, would you say? Draco did it, if it's any help.**

**Greg**

Hermione had once told Draco that muggles used magic to mean something that wouldn't work, or at least not the way people thought, or some wild improbability. At the time, he'd snorted at the sheer arrogant presumption and said nothing.

These days he almost understood. He'd expected a noticeable change in things when they'd put the baby in stasis; that Hermione would get well, that his daughter would be out of danger. Ironically, magic was accountable for all this, but doing not a damned bit more than it did all those ignorant muggles.

In his less petulant moments, Draco had to admit there was improvement. Hermione was strong enough now that she could sit, heavily propped with pillows, in the bed, and she was lucid again, and speaking normally. Drusilla (technically she hadn't got her name yet, but he'd thought of her that way from the moment Hermione had told him) was, very, very slowly losing the baby mouse look.

It was a subtle thing. First her skin seemed to get less translucent. Then he noticed her body was growing to meet her head, an increment at a time. He spent a lot of time in there, watching her. Touchingly, so did everyone else. Even Custard went and checked several times a day, sniffing about, trying to find the Big Kitten's smell.

He found solace in a surprising source—a pad of paper. He'd always liked to sketch, and he'd decided to take it up again as a means of keeping himself occupied. He did one of Hermione as she slept, which was all right, and another of the baby, which was not. But he kept at it, and after a few days he'd remembered a little about technique. He hid them, all the same. He had a reputation, after all.

It had got very cold, and the elves had put selkie rugs on the beds. He loved seeing Hermione nuzzled into hers; she looked adorably vulnerable and helpless, all rugged up for warmth. He dressed and came to her while she was still deep in hers, with only her hair showing.

"Love?"

"Morning. It's almost the tenth day, isn't it?"

"It is, my darling. And Christmas Eve, and have I ever got a present for you."

Hermione smiled. "Me, too. Let's cuddle first." And so he climbed in beside her, missing being able to share the bed full time, and took her in his arms for a Christmas Eve snuggle. "It's a bit of a departure, but I think you'll like it."

"Is this a private gift, darling?"

Hermione nodded emphatically. "Yes!"

He laughed. "Oh, dear, has my little girl been naughty?"

"No, not precisely." She called for Tibby( whose towel was festively decorated with a sprig of holly) to bring her something from the muggle valise she'd brought with her. She handed Draco something in a long box, and he went through a show of shaking it, trying to guess. Hermione wouldn't give even a tiny hint, and so Draco slit the paper gently, opened the box, and laughed out loud.

"Hermione! Of all the things you could have given me!"

Hermione was blushing. "Well, I wanted to give you something you'd like."

"I certainly do like it." He lifted the hairbrush from the box and studied it. It was a beautiful brush, carved in mahogany and polished to a high sheen. "This is old, isn't it?"

"I got it at an antique shop."

He raised an eyebrow. "When was this?"

Oh dear. "Last spring."

"I think we should talk about this, little girl, don't you?"

Hermione shook her head no. "Let's read instead."

He laughed aloud. "That was a terrible attempt at redirection, Hermione. Truly wretched. Now, when exactly last spring?"

"May. I went to Darlington to open the house up and had to go to High Street to have some things done—the power was off, get the paper delivery restarted—and that was that."

"Wasn't either. Who went with my little girl to see she was safe? She might have wandered into the road or talked with a stranger."

"No one. Everyone else was busy, but they knew where I was, and I was only gone an hour or two."

Draco had to admit, that was relatively valid. "And so this shop was right next to the Muggle Ministry, is that right?"

"There's not a Muggle Ministry, Draco, not like that. And it was within sight."

Draco nodded. "Did my little girl talk to strangers? She's awfully little. She might take sweets from them, or follow someone dodgy."

"Only the shop owner. He said this brush is nearly a hundred years old."

"It seems to me that a little girl wouldn't buy a thing like that unless she thought she'd need it. And since she had a perfectly adequate brush for her hair…I imagine this brush has blistered a lot of bottoms in it's day, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded. "I didn't tell you because…"

"You were very angry and hurt and wanted me to give you what you needed without saying?"

Hermione nodded. "That and I guess I felt a bit silly."

"Silly about what?"

"I…I remember thinking it was silly of me to buy it. Like you said, I had a brush, and it wasn't like I thought you'd…you know."

He looked at the brush thoughtfully. "Perhaps it called to you. It knew a naughty little girl with a too cool bottom when it saw her, and thought to help out."

"And then after you…I wanted to save it for Christmas."

"I understand. We'll need to give this a good long test sometime soon, with some corner time after. Won't that be fun?" Hermione abruptly snuggled into her husband's neck. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm surprised you gave it to me, little Madam I—don't –like—being—smacked—even—when—I—need—it." Hermione blushed and pulled the robe up higher. "I don't. But I like making you happy."

He nestled her into the robes and gave her an extra little treat with his tongue.

One of the benefits to being dead, thought Drusilla as she reclined against Rose, was the constant availability of laps, and older people attached to them. She sighed deeply and fiddled with her hair ribbons. "Something wrong, Drusilla?"

She shook her head and sighed again. She'd spent the last week and a half helping where she could, but what if it wasn't enough? There's a limit to what the dead can do. Still, she felt pretty good about what she'd done—she'd made herself tiny as tiny could be, and started with the baby's brain, gently nudging connexions, helping form pathways and, as soon as there was capacity enough, whispering to her niece about the things she needed to know.

"That's your Daddy, my brother Draco. He's the best older brother I know." Drusilla the elder gently adjusted a neural pathway a decimetre to the left. "And the lady is your Mother. Her parents are muggles, but she's ever so nice."

Then she'd traveled to the little heart and helped it beat when it was tired. It was tired a lot, because it was terribly small, but, thought Drusilla, a little help is nothing to be ashamed of. She went to the lungs and gently pumped them in and out when they wanted to falter, helped her draw more air into them. And then, one day, she felt the lungs give a little hitch and start working of their own accord.

She did other things, too. She went to Mother and tickled her hypothalamus so she'd remember to eat. She visited Daddy to help him relax and make him smile. The only person she never visited was Aunt Trixie. She'd gone once, but the things she saw confused and scared her; blood, screaming, fire.

"Did it make her do those things, Nan? Her brain?" She'd asked one day, holding a biscuit she wasn't eating. Nan quietly set down her cup. "No, Drusilla. She made a choice to do like she did."

"But her mind is…"

"Warped, yes. Like a piece of fruit riddled with wormholes. But she could have chose differently, and didn't, time after time."

"Like when she made Draco hurt those muggles in Kent?"

"Yes."

"Antigone's mother's mind isn't right, and she didn't hurt anyone."

Nan inhaled deeply. "Didn't she, love?"

Drusilla frowned. "Well, yes, but I mean she didn't make people covered in blood like Aunt Trixie did."

"No, she didn't." Rose sipped tea and wondered whether she should honest with Drusilla about the things she, too, had seen in the woman's mind.

"Hecuba was sick because there was something wrong with the way her brain worked. Bellatrix is sick because …she likes hurting people, and feels no need to stop. If she could, she'd still be hurting people."

"Why is nice to Mother and Auntie Meddie, then?"

"Because even bad people can have good traits."

"Is that why Grandpapa still loves her?"

"He loves her for what she was. Bellatrix might have been a wonderful person, had she not let her anger and hatred eat her alive."

"Why is she angry?"

Rose sipped some tea. "That's something for another night, Drusilla."

Drusilla nodded and nibbled her biscuit. "Can't Grandpapa make her stop? He made Auntie Andromeda eat again."

Rose shook her head. "We all makes choices, Drusilla, and then live with them." Drusilla never had, but she decided to ask another time. This was a lot to deal with. To make herself feel better, she went to see her namesake, and tell her it was Christmas Eve.

Bellatrix herself was lying on her back in bed, singing a loud and off key rendition of 'God bless you merry hippogriffs'. Alecto, who had perfect pitch, was struggling not to say anything, until she finally broke down. "Bellatrix, please! I'm trying to think."

"About singing?"

"No, not about singing!"

"Hmm, too bad for you, then, Alecto. 'God rest you merry hippogriffs, let nothing you dismay'!"

Alecto inhaled deeply. "Bellatrix, I need to give a deposition today, and I'd like some help thinking what to say."

"Oh. About what?"

"Remember when we raided Atalanta Simms' house to get the notes on the Beetlewort tincture his Lordship wanted?"

"Of course I do."

"That. Have you any suggestions?"

Bellatrix considered. "Not really. Just be brave, Alecto, it'll be over quickly enough." She lay back on the bed for a moment. " Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy!"

After a light supper, everyone went their own way for a while. There was usually a ball held on Christmas Eve. Obviously this year it was out of the question. But plenty of people were coming over, and they'd have a good time.

Dressed in a clean nightgown and her light pink bed jacket, Hermione was being bullied into some rouge by Leesy, who'd decided young Madam would look stunning if she had to use every trick in her repertoire to manipulate her into it. For her own good, of course.

Hermione submitted to having her hair brushed, oiled and put in a braided coronet, but balked at rouge and lipstick, let alone eye makeup. "It's not me, Leesy. How about just the rouge?"

"Miss is wearing something on her lips. Is being too pale."

"I just had a baby, of course I'm pale. How about just a tiny bit?"

Leesy nodded and carefully applied the cosmetics. "Leesy is putting on some eye makeup now?"

The first guests started arriving at six o'clock. The Floo released a great gush of Weasleys, along with Harry. Percy Weasley was carrying both Teddy and a large tome.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Weasley. A little light reading?"

Percy blushed. "Teddy likes it, so I thought I could read him to sleep and study for the Advocacy exams at the same time."

Lucius smirked in a friendly way. "I shall put you on retainer directly, if you can amuse my nephew and read law at the same time."

Percy looked awkward and jiggled Teddy. "Are we going to read about Tort law, Teddy? Yes, we are, yes, we are!" Ron shook his head. "Corrupting the little fellow, if you ask me."

Percy turned with a sniff. "Say whatever you like, reading 'Morella and the magic fungus' won't help Teddy prepare for a career."

"He's not even a year old!"

"Soonest begun…"

Ron followed Percy and Teddy as they climbed to the family quarters. "Ron! Harry!"

"Hermione!" They all grinned broadly and embraced as Draco stood behind them. Hermione herself looked almost like her old self again. She even had colour in her cheeks, and she wasn't struggling for air like she had been. Draco looked less pinched than he had.

There came a knock at the door and Greg Goyle poked his head in. "Oi, lads. Custard wants to come in." Custard, who had also been decoratively festooned with holly until she'd ripped in off her neck and pounced the elf responsible, snorted pointedly. Greg put her on the bed and she immediately made for Hermione, sniffing to see if the baby was here yet. "Not quite, Custard, but soon, hopefully."

"Tomorrow's the tenth day."

"Yes, it is."

"What a strange year it's been."

Draco nodded. "Yes, but perhaps it means Dr-I mean, the baby will be easier to deal with when she's older, have the problems up front and then smooth flying."

Ron and Harry laughed. "Not bloody likely! Teenage girls are the worst!"

"I wasn't. I was fine." Now all of them were laughing. "Liar!"

"Besides, the baby's going to be a combination of Hermione and Malfoy."

Greg chortled. "Remember that time we flew off the roof of the tower, Draco?"

Draco laughed. "Father was furious."

"It was your idea, mate. I've every intention of telling her all about it the second she's old enough."

"Don't you dare!"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione, we did some pretty wild stuff. Remember how you set Snape's robes on fire that time?"

The Slytherins had gone absolutely still. "What?"

"And you never told me? I'm hurt, _hurt_!"

Hermione was faintly pink, still not well enough to blush dark red. "It was a very small flame, really."

"No, it wasn't! It was a sodding great inferno!"

Draco didn't dare look at Greg and the feeling was mutual. "You mean to say that you somehow nearly baked Snape?"

"We thought he was trying to knock Harry off his broom." Hermione explained and they all nodded to show they understood. "So, which of us gets to tell him?"

"No one!"

"He's my godfather!"

"Which is why I should tell him!"

"Tell me what, Mr. Goyle?"

"Errrr….."

"Well, you see, sir…"

Snape seemed nonplussed. "Of course she did." He relished the looks of shock on five faces. "You knew?"

"Who else would have done it and was friends with Potter?" Snape looked blandly about and motioned for Goyle to vacate the chair. "Here's your potion, and do remind me why you were never punished for this, again?"

"Professor McGonagall never knew."

Snape huffed. "I might be a bit-abrasive- but no one could ever say I didn't run my House with iron discipline. I would have known."

Draco and Greg were nodding emphatically. "Tanned us enough times."

"Quite."

"Yeah, but this baby's gonna be both of them, so she'll obey the rules and do her lessons and everything."

Snape gave a snort. "Weasley, that's even less thought out than usual. You honestly think the girl hasn't inherited the worst of them both?"

Harry grinned. "Even if she hasn't, with this many uncles around, she'll have loads of encouragement."

"Precisely what I'm afraid of. Draco, perhaps you'd take the gentlemen into the other room while I speak with your wife?"

They obligingly went into the other room and Snape took Hermione's wrist to feel her pulse. "I was talking with that idiot your mother in law insists is some sort of mid-witch' he said, which was Snape's attempt at small talk 'and she seems to think that it would be all right if we took the baby out of stasis tonight. Only for a few moments, of course."

Hermione's face lit up. "Truly?"

"Would I lie?"

The Longbottoms came with Luna, Ginny(who'd gone to visit Luna) and Pansy, who'd owled to find out when to come. Augusta decided to enjoy a toddy downstairs while the three young people made their way to see Hermione. "Motherhood suits you, Hermione. You're glowing."

Hermione took Luna's hand. "I wish I could do more of it. I don't think I've done a thing except lie here."

"Oh, but you have. You've given the baby an example to live up to, just like my Mum did for me." Luna reached into her purse and handed Hermione a book. "This is for the baby." It was a battered copy of 'Baby's book of Magical Beasts'.

Hermione grinned. "This is wonderful, Luna. You can read it to her as soon as she's well."

"I would like that. And Pansy brought something too." Pansy solemnly handed over a little green book. Hermione opened it and laughed aloud. "A compendium of great Slytherins for young Witches and Wizards'?"

Pansy nodded. "Well, she is a Malfoy. I've an obligation to see she has the right sort of example to follow. Have you seen Weasley?"

"Ron is with Draco and the others. Did you need to talk to him?"

"Yes. Would you mind…."

"Not at all." Ginny and Hermione shared a look as Parkinson trotted off, bobbed hair suiting her face and a look of concentration wreathed thereon.

Ron looked up with surprise as Pansy came in and tapped his shoulder. "I need to speak to you."

They went into the corridor. "You kissed me."

"Er…."

"I suppose I could forgive your attempts to ruin me if you took me for a walk."

"I didn't…"

"I'll fetch my cloak."

Calling her elf, Pansy half dragged Ron into the garden. The snow was piled round on all sides, soft and silent and anonymous. They walked in silence, both in their own thoughts, until Pansy said abruptly "You loved her."

"Yeah."

"And now?"

Ron thought carefully. "I'll always love Hermione. But she and Malfoy…they have something really special."

"Yes.' Pansy thought of hearing Alecto telling Mother what Draco had done that night in the corridors. 'He'd do anything for her."

Ron remembered Percy the Prat telling him about the spectacle in front of the court room that time, and his own angry allegations later that day. "She for him, too."

"Come to supper tomorrow, Weasley. We're eating at eight thirty."

Ron meant to say no. He didn't need Parkinson thinking she could tell him what to do. And he wasn't interested in her petty Pureblood prejudices. But the war had changed them all, and maybe….maybe it was only fair to give her a chance.

"All right." And then she was kissing him, and he thought he could get used to it.

Draco used the chance to lead them to Greg's rooms. He'd given Greg the money earlier, and he held out his hands gingerly to accept the little russet puffball. "His name's Toffee."

The kit yawned lazily, showing a tiny pink tongue. "Greg, would you show everyone the…library, or something?"

Greg nodded. He looked distinctly nervous. He had the ring in his pocket, and he was going over just before midnight to ask her formally. Draco had already agreed to be his second, and gave him a wink. "It'll be fine, Greg. You know she loves you."

"Yeah." He'd given the rest of the money to his brother. "What's…Merlin, there's a thousand Galleons here!"

"Eight hundred fifty six, and fourteen sickles." With a lightening charm, of course, to keep it breaking someone's arm.

"Where did you get this?"

"Sold Toffee."

"To whom?" Who would pay this much for a kneazle? The kneazles were Greg's. Since he was a second son, Greg got the kneazles while Galten got Goyle Keep. But he only ever asked two hundred fifty for them. How did…

"Draco. For Hermione, I mean." Galten nodded slowly and got his cloak. He'd always told Tiggy he'd get something nice if they had the money. He knew exactly what he'd get, too.

Hermione was chatting with the girls when Draco came into the room holding what looked like a fuzzy dumpling. "Hold out your hands, Hermione."

She did. He put the dumpling in them, and it immediately started to purr loudly. Custard gave an approving grumble. "He's got so big!"

"His name's Toffee. He's yours." Hermione smiled so brightly it almost hurt him, thinking how close they'd come to losing this forever. "Oh, Draco." Draco sat down and carefully extended a hand to the mewing creature, who deigned to give him a sniff before he went back to rolling about on Hermione's lap.

"I've a gift for you, too. After the midnight supper, ask Mother and Father to come up here."

They ate on chairs set around Hermione's bed, eating off their laps, enjoying peace and good health and being young. After supper and coffee, the older people appeared. Hermione nodded to Snape, who told Draco to help her out of the bed.

"Draco first, please, then the others." They three walked down the hall, and Hermione, leant against the back of the chair, asked Draco to sit. Snape swished his wand and the stasis field vanished. "What-"

"Happy Christmas, Draco." Hermione took the baby gently in her arms and set her in Draco's. He'd never held her before. "Hello, darling." He lowered his face and felt her breath, fragile as a spider's web, tickle his cheek.

Narcissa came next, then Lucius, then the elder Goyles. They both refused to hold her. "Too small' said Galten, and felt an almost superstitious fear he'd break her somehow if he got too close. Greg came, and to everyone's surprise, he wanted to hold her and did.

"Oi, baby. When you're bigger, I'll tell you about the things your Da and I did when we were small."

Draco bent over. "Darling, Uncle might tell you all sorts of things, but has he promised you double puddings?"

And although they couldn't see them, the room was crowded as generations past came to see the baby they'd worked so hard to save. At the very front, Drusilla, bursting with pride, held Nan Rose's hand. Nan was weeping.

"The things we lose' said Dumbledore 'have a way of coming back to us. But sometimes we need not lost them, and find them all the sweeter when they're found in spite of it." Drusilla went to his side and tugged his sleeve. Dumbledore handed her a lemon drop.

Many of the dead were not know to those in the rooms. Some of them were strangers, even muggles. But all of them had contributed to making this possible. Vince Crabbe stood by Greg, grinning broadly. "She can't wait for you to ask her, mate."

Dumbledore came up behind Snape. "You're a finer man than you like to pretend, Severus." Snape heard nothing; but he had an unaccountable vision of lemon drops, and said, very softly 'Happy Christmas, Albus,"

One of the dead was not there. She was in Malham, waiting for her chance. Her hands, slicked with cold blood, clenched and unclenched spasmodically. But her mind was clear. They started filtering in early on Christmas morning, making plans. They'd not move for a while.

She was ready for them. Hecuba waited for her chance to redeem herself, and none are more patient than the dead.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Love to reviewers,**

**And my dear Countess Black.**

**My laptop having mysteriously started acting funny, I am using a loaner for the nonce. Many thanks to my grandparents for letting me use their netbook.**

**Since religious ceremonies tend to resemble one another, I have skimped on details for this one. If anyone is curious, I'm always happy to honour requests.**

**Also, a new mother and child isn't 'seen' for four months purely in the social sense. People can visit, and close friends can be visited, but no parties, shopping, etc.**

** Incidentally, Draco swears he had nothing to do with my Ipod's being enchanted to nag me to write. I am, to say the least, skeptical. Every song is now about 'lazy muggles who should be writing'.**

** Madea**

No one knew precisely how the Mallow place caught fire. There was nothing which should have caused the house-which was abandoned-to catch fire, but it had. The place was shunned by wizards and muggles alike, which made the most likely suspect, drunken teenagers, a long shot.

In theory, the place ought to have drawn them like mad. Isolated and rambling, it was precisely the sort of place one could go and get into trouble without being caught. But muggles reported strange noises and terrible smells, and wizards knew what had happened there, and so, after the remarkably hideous death of Polybus Mallow in the early part of the Second War, the house had stood like Ozmandias' statue until a freak conflagration burnt it to the ground.

Stranger still, when the Ministry sent a group of aurors to look through the rubble, they found remains. One might be tempted to call them human, but a few cursory tests led them to believe the bones were lycanthropic in origins. Why would a bunch of werewolves want to hide in an ill omened house?

Greyback would have spat contemptuously at such a question. As it was, he was pacing and raging wildly in Wales, smashing anything that got too close. Fifty of his best boys had been burnt like kippers in a fire they could find no explanation for. A voice called his name and he whirled, snarling, until he realised it was only Peter Pettigrew.

"Lestrange would like to talk you, please, Fenrir."

"Lestrange can fuck himself."

Wormtail, who's major goal at the moment (living through the day) seemed to be imperilled, made himself press onward. "He wants to rethink the plan, is all."

Greyback turned from Wormtail and looked at the pots where the potion was brewing. He felt a genuine sadness at the death of some many of his finer boys; but more and more, he felt angry. It was someone's fault this had happened…fists clenched, he roared.

"Well, come on then' he said to the quivering suet pudding that was Peter Pettigrew, and they Apparated away without another word.

Lestrange and his second in command, Rookwood, were drinking tea in the kitchen. The Irish sea was nearby, and the soothing sound led to introspection. The silence was broken when Pettigrew came back with a storming Greyback.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What do you want, then?"

"What shall we do, Greyback?"

Greyback touched his temples. In the past few weeks, he'd had headaches the likes of which could drop a troll. And he'd really hurt the last woman he was with. It bothered him. He valued his restraint, to a point.

"I have my boys dress as orderlies and slip into the hospital. We use the Floo to get from St. Mungo's to the house. We pose as hospital people long enough to get upstairs and free Bellatrix and Alecto, and they help us bring the others past the wards."

"Where do we come in?"

"You're the others, idiot."

"How many of your people will you want in the Park?"

Greyback shrugged. "A hundred, maybe, but only a few dozen in wolf form. We need the others human." He could needle Lestrange about the fact that he'd had congress with the man's wife, but he wasn't about to reveal the next part of his plan.

Lestrange nodded slowly. "I see. Why so many?"

"Because the wolves won't attack a human wolf. We can smell it."

"I meant, why so many wolves?"

"Create a perimeter round the house and gardens, besides being the diversionary force against the centaurs. The humans will use the opening to clear and contain the house itself and use the residents as hostages."

This was new. "How audacious. Tell us how we might be of use."

"I'd like you with me. It'll give us…what would you call it?…legitimacy, along with Trixie. And we'll have the mudblood, too, which should help."

"And the others? My sisters in law?"

"We use them as hostages and kill them once they've outlived their purpose."

Rodolphus shrugged. "If you like."

Hermione had thought the happiest day of her life was the tenth day. Christmas morning, they'd all processed to the tombs, where the baby (well, a bolster wearing the gown and hat) was ceremonially named and accepted. Greg had proudly handed over the traditional dowry (which Draco was expected to far exceed) of a galleon, a sickle and knut, and then duelled her husband to show he could defend Drusilla's honour. She'd thought it the happiest day, watching them play to the assembled people and then pose like peacocks after, as she'd whispered admiringly in his ear in bed that night.

She was wrong. The happiest day was four days later, when the healer had gravely told them, tears in her eyes, that the baby was big enough for them to take her out of stasis.

Well rugged up in a flannel undergown, leggings, lambs wool tunic, Nan's hat, warm bootees and baby gown, Drusilla had been handed carefully to Lemmy who, sobbing, had given her to Tibby.

Hermione, eyes damp, turned to Snape. "Won't you hold her?"

"Infants hate me. Big ones and little ones."

Draco snorted. "Not true. I used to love going to see you."

Snape sat down, glowering, and supported the baby's head without being told to. She looked up at him, eyes half open. Lucius' eyes, like Draco had, he noticed, but the nest of curls on her head reminded her who her mother was.

"Hello, Miss Malfoy. I am Snape."

Draco snorted again and Snape, in retaliation, bent his head to the baby's tiny ear. "Your father is my godson. I held him as I'm holding you. I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask me where you came from, if you wouldn't mind."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at her husband, who unaccountably found something interesting engraved on his shoestrings. "Professor?"

"Nothing, Hermione. Take the baby, I must go and report to Minerva, she's ordered me to bring her all the details about her newest pupil. She has this absurd idea she'll get her into Gryffindor." Snape sneered to show what he thought of this, and Draco smirked pointedly at his wife.

Hermione decided to ignore this and rock the baby instead. Draco flicked his wand and the chair doubled in width, allowing him to slid beside them. He flicked his wrist again and called a book. "Story time." And so they relaxed, just the three of them, ignorant of what was going on in the rest of the world.

Shacklebolt, meanwhile, would have torn out his hair if he'd had any. He was trying to deal with no fewer than seven other things when the owl came that the Magical Fire Investigation Squad had finished the first sweep of the remains of Mallow house, and the odd things they had found. Kingsley frowned deeply and pondered what this might mean.

"Could it have something to do with those werewolves in Wales, Kingsley?"

Arthur Weasley and his son Bill were sitting in the chairs across from his desk, having been appointed 'special advisors'. Kingsley nodded. "I'm sure it does. But I daren't go and start asking questions right at the moment, Arthur. They've been quiet lately. Stirring up an acromantula web, if we do that."

Bill took a deep breath. "They're harbouring Greyback, Kingsley."

"Of course they are. And we've made it clear we're looking to arrest him for being a Death Eater, not a werewolf, but unless you think we're prepared to go in and rout nearly a thousand werewolves-all of whom know the surrounding land and can go to ground for years-we need to come up with a better plan."

"What were they doing?"

"Who knows? They might not even have been part of the Great Band. Might've been rogues looking for a place to sleep."

"In tainted ground?"

Kingsley shrugged again. There came a knock at the door and an old, old man put his head in. "'M off now, Minister."

"All right, Theolonius, thank you.' He turned to both Weasleys and sighed. 'I'm sending him to register the new Malfoy baby. They might get accosted, otherwise."

Arthur shook his head. "I can't believe our Hermione has a child."

"I can't believe they wished a name like 'Drusilla' on the poor little thing." Bill snorted and Arthur meant to fix him with a gimlet eye and laughed instead.

Draco and Hermione were brought from their reverie by a knock on the door. Lucius stood watching them, and then came and took the baby from Hermione's arms. "We have to register her now. They've sent an Inferi from the Ministry especially for that purpose."

"An Inferi?"

Lucius realised he should have been a bit more circumspect in his choice of words. "A rather elderly employee, love. We used to call them Inferi because they won't die." Draco snorted and tried to disguise it as a cough as they all walked to the formal parlour, where Narcissa was entertaining a man in a gravy stained waistcoat.

"Tea, Mr. Sourde?"

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely. This is the baby, I take it?"

"Yes, sir." Hermione jiggled her gently, hoping she wouldn't fuss. Purely a Malfoy thing, that.

"Her name?"

"Drusilla Hermione Malfoy."

They proceeded through the questions about parents' names and occupations, et cetera, until the old man asked to hold the baby as part of his job, to see that the gender and all had been reported correctly.

"A fine girl' the old man kept saying. '"I was at Hogwarts with Nero Malfoy. This is the fourth generation of Malfoy I've registered."

Lucius smiled broadly. "Then you remember my father."

"Abraxas? Oh, yes. And Tiberius, too." He handed the baby to Draco and took up his quill again.

"Blood status?"

"Halfblood."

The old man looked up in surprise. "Sorry?"

Hermione refused to sound as though this were an issue. "I'm muggleborn, sir."

"Ah. Old Nero is spinning in his grave. Always did hate mud bloods." Thelonius didn't keep up with things like he had, and was only peripherally aware there had been a war in many ways. The Death Eaters, seeing absolutely no useful applications to his job where they were concerned, left him totally alone. The only change he'd really noticed was the statue, and even that had been fixed to his satisfaction.

Hermione choked on her tea and Narcissa said, very quickly "Will that be all? Hermione is looking rather peaked to me."

"St. Mungo's will send someone round to check the baby over, but other than that, I'll be on my way." He rose, donned a rusty old top hat, and Floo'd away. Draco leant grinned at his wife.

"Don't feel bad, love. If nothing else, you win by attrition. You've most of your life ahead of you, and the old boy looks ready to drop tomorrow." Hermione burst out laughing and Narcissa was suitably appalled. "Draco! What a thing to say about your elders. Lucius, chastise your son."

"Why is he my son when he does these things?"

"Because I never taught him that!"

"Draco, don't say these things in front of Mother, she scolds me."

Narcissa glared and bent toward the baby. " Don't listen, precious, they're a very bad influence on you."

"Mother, Drusilla can't talk."

"That's hardly the point."

Draco took Drusilla and kissed her cheek. "Grandmother is just sad she didn't think of it first, love. Shall we go and find Auntie and Cousin?"

Andromeda and Teddy were playing on the floor of her rooms, using some enchanted blocks to make towers which Teddy, crowing with delight, would knock down again. As soon as he saw Draco and Hermione, he cooed sharply, wanting to know where they'd been, and tell them all about his holiday with Molly and Percy.

Hermione sat down cross legged and held Drusilla to her chest, while Draco took Teddy and let him sit up, supported against Draco's chest. "Teddy, this is Drusilla. Drusilla, this is cousin Teddy."

Everything came clear at once. Teddy gurgled and gently touched the edge of the tiny little thing's gown. This was his special play mate that Aunt had been talking about, and the reason that Girl Cousin had been so tired lately. He loved her with a baby's easy, uncritical adoration, and took up the little enchanted elephant-his favourite!-to give to her.

"She's much too tiny to play right now, but in a few months time, she'll be nearly as old as you are and ready to play."

Drusilla opened her mouth to yawn, showing toothless gums, and Teddy felt a flash of sympathy, having two whole teeth now himself, and knowing how superior they were in all ways.

He yawned too. Boy Cousin's lap felt pretty nice, and he'd been playing hard. Within ten minutes they were both sound asleep, and Andromeda helped them get up without waking either child. "They'll get on splendidly, I just know it."

An elf came to tell them a healer was there to look over Drusilla, and could they come down?

"How do they do this for muggleborn?" She asked Draco as they made their way to the parlour, the sleeping Drusilla nestled in Hermione's arms.

"They have aurors dressed as medi-muggles in every major city. When they see a magical child, they report them and send along the information so the Ministry can watch." Hermione shivered a little, thinking of her own family being observed that way, and let the woman in healer's robes take Drusilla and lay her on the table.

After a few cursory questions and flicks of her wand, the woman ticked off some things on a chart and thanked them for their time. "That wasn't very hard."

"It's a bureaucratic thing, more than anything else. Want to make sure the child looks healthy and all."

She would have responded but Greg came in, face white, and said, very softly 'Something's happened at Mallow House."

**Earlier:**

_They'd come in the small hours, a pack of thuggish looking men in dirty clothes. Each of them had held a phial for when the time came, and instructions on what they should do when the time came. They'd use Galvin as bait to get his sons there, and then use the sons to get onto the property itself._

_The house was still and, to their sensitive noses, stank abominably. None of them said anything. There was nothing to say. They had between them a single lamp, filled with crude animal fat for fuel. Those amongst them who'd read their Classics considered that the inner part of the Horse must have been like this for all the hoplites who'd crouched in the wooden belly, silent for their lives._

_The one by the door heard it first. A sort of thumping, and laughter. He tensed, signalling to a friend to see whether he'd heard it too. Without moments they were all still. Nothing. The smell had not changed._

_The footsteps next. Up the stairs and down the stairs, heavy masculine clomps and lighter female mincing, until it felt as though there must be a houseful of people all around them. Still no smell._

_The walls, next. Silently, at first, but ever louder, shaking wildly, as though the house would fall apart. And then it went dark._

_A female voice rang out in the stillness, rusty with disuse. "Come and find me."_

_Every nerve was singing, ever muscles tight in readiness and excitement. They were here. Somehow, against all reason, they were here, or someone was, and they'd find them-her?-and it would be a glorious hunt._

_They slipped from the room in small packs, one and two at a time, and spread out throughout the house. Still no smell._

_The one in the attic first. He crept up the steps in silence, relishing the hunt, erect with pleasure and excitement. He only knew he was trapped when the door wouldn't open again. He swallowed his phial and waited._

_The heat in the house was rising unaccountably. Many, finding themselves trapped like the bloke in the attic, opted to transform via the small phials of potion they'd been given. The still human felt sweat covering their ever body part, knowing it would freeze to them should they step outside. The house was flooded by the sweet, cheap smell of cologne, and blood, blood enough to sink them all under the sheer weight._

"_I'm in here! Hurry!"_

_The ones that could think followed the voice back to the room, ignoring the pounding and howls of their bestial brethren, knowing they'd find their way out. There were ten in the room when she finally showed herself._

_One of them screamed. A woman in a blood soaked nightgown hovered above them, throat cut, head lolling to the side. She was grinning. As they watched, she winked and dropped the lamp, which was sputtering weakly._

_It did nothing. They started to laugh. "Stupid ghost! Go on, then!"_

_And then the werewolves discovered what Hecuba had been doing with the fat, as the well smeared walls erupted. In the panic, the strong trampled the weak. On reaching the corridors, they discovered the wolves had been released, and the panicked animals were slashing and biting at everyone, friend or otherwise._

_In the end, most of them died in the melee, and the ones who didn't were killed by smoke. And Hecuba, duty done, smiled to watch the house which had been her prison in life and in death vanish in thick black smoke, like a burnt offering to an angry god._

Antigone shrugged when she heard. "Any news of Father?"

"None. I'm sorry about your natal home."

"I'm not, but thank you."She went and retrieved Alecto 'for questioning'. "It's done."

"Of course it is. She loved you, Antigone." Antigone, who'd spent a good deal of time cursing her mother, looked abashed. "She's free now."

Alecto nodded. She wasn't. She never would be again. She still didn't know Bellatrix's plan, and what she'd told Shacklebolt could have fitted onto the head of a pin with room for the nine uses of dragon's blood.

"Any news of Galvin?"

"None, Auntie. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, pet. And the baby?"

"She's well. Still puny, but we'll fatten her up." Alecto smiled sadly. "And you and Galten haven't…"

"No, Auntie."

"Maybe next month, then."

Antigone nodded, and bid her aunt goodbye. She wasn't sorry about the house, not in the slightest. She'd sell the land, perhaps to muggles to spite her father. But before she did, she'd have to go and free her mother formally from her vow. There's things due the dead.

At St. Mungo's, the healer put Drusilla's chart in a pile of them and shoved the pile into the orderly's arms. "All the M's for this month."

The orderly took them to the file room, carefully slipping one into his pocket and sliding out the door undetected. He took it to a small stairwell, and made a few notes for himself. He swapped the file for some forged papers, similar enough that the difference wouldn't be noticed in the time it took. Then he sneaked it back in Floo'd to the Apparation point.

The air of the camp was riddled with screams. When his feet touched the ground, he could see some of Greyback's boys driving a line of people toward a sort of crude pen with flaming torches and lengths of chain. On either side, men were screaming and shouting, flailing at the torch holders, being stunned by people in trees.

"Fen wants you' one of them yelled, and false orderly ran back to Greyback's cave.

"Got the stuff, lad?"

"Yeah, Alpha." He handed it over. "Floor connexion password and all."

"Well done. Not like those arrogant whoresons out there."

The false orderly raised his still polyjuiced brow. "Sorry?"

"They want to leave, if you can believe it. Go home and let the Ministry treat them like shite again." Antony had seen life in the camp-disease, misery, hunger. He didn't blame the ones with something to go back to. Not that he'd dare say that.

"Still, I think they'll be more co-operative now, don't you?"

"I don't understand."

"I took their wives, you see, and brats. They want them back, they'll dance to my tune." The false orderly understood, and was sickened. He believed they could make the Ministry give them a place of their own…but these were their people, and Greyback was using their families against them. Children, even.

"Fenn, they're rioting! Throwing stones!"

"Fuck me. Tell 'em I said next one throws a stone, we kill all the children under six, got it?" The messenger ran off and the false orderly looked at Greyback in horror. Greyback shrugged. "Just for now, lad. It'll be better once everything is settled."

The false orderly nodded dutifully but began to wonder about slipping away.

The next day, Lucius got an owl from the Ministry. "Draco' he said to his son over breakfast 'they want us to bring Drusilla to hospital. Something about a clerical issue."

Draco huffed. "Idiots. Don't they know how small she is?"

"I know. But it's only for a moment, and we'll come straight back. Unless you think Potter would receive us?"

As it turned out, he would, and promised them lunch and use of the nursery for Drusilla.

So, wrapped in cloaks and warming charms, they left, Andromeda in tow. The Goyles were not there; Greg was having dinner with the Bulstrodes and the elder two had gone to pick out their new house elf, Galten's gift to Tiggy.

The house was therefore silent, until the Floo flared green.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Love to reviewers.**

**And my dear Countess Black.**

**When they reference a veil, google Victorian mourning veil to see what I mean.**

**A dumbshow was a sort of mime performance.**

Ron slammed the cover of the book shut. "Percy, you know this backward and forward."

"Just once more, Ron, the test is Thursday."

"Relax, Percy. If Harry and I could master actually using all these spells, you can learn to regulate them."

An owl pecked at the window and George gave it a treat. "Speak of Mordred and he appears. Harry's invited us to lunch."

The Weasley brothers arrived in time to see Kreacher, ludicrously clad in a frilled apron, muttering to himself as he stirred boiling pans and fiddled with an enormous mould of some kind.

"Kreacher is not making formal meal in years!" The elf looked more than slightly deranged, and Ron raised an eyebrow to Harry, who shook his head. "I think it makes him feel alive. If it'll keep me from having to behead him, I'll eat anything he wants."

"Got a letter from Ginny."

"So did I. She's happy."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. What time does everyone get here?"

"Soon. Something about some a clerical error. You know how that is."

The healer frowned and waved his wand again. "I have no idea why your file was flagged, Madam Malfoy. The baby has no signs of aptha that I can see."

"You mean to say we brought our daughter here for nothing?" Draco frowned, looking displeased to say the least. The healer nodded. "It was a mix up. I apologise."

Hermione gave Draco a sharp look and he nodded slowly. "I understand." Lucius looked even less pleased, and Narcissa was appraising the man coolly. The healer quietly left as fast as he could, before they got organised enough to start yelling.

"Well, that was yet another stunning example of stupidity. Shall we got to Potter's?"

The ladies allowed the gentlemen to help them into cold weather cloaks and fine wool veils to block drafts and they departed, opting to walk, following Tibby, who was carrying Drusilla's little heat charmed basket with infinite care.

They arrived in short order and were greeted with enthusiasm by the traditional deluge of Weasleys. "Drusilla!" Harry and Ron had never got to hold the baby, and they took turns holding her, and Teddy, who'd met up with the group (along with Nan) near Diagon Alley.

The elves were glaring at one another with barely disguised hostility as Percy took the chortling Teddy and showed him the law book. "Look, Teddy, it's Criminal law, yes, it is!"

"Percy, he's not even a year old."

"Well, if he wants a seat in the Wizengamot by the time he's forty, he'll need to start now."

Teddy, who'd been told this was his life's ambition, crowed an agreement and asked to hear about the property statues again. "Is this child abuse?"

"Probably." Harry gave Teddy a kiss on the top of the head and left he and Percy to sing the stages of a criminal investigation to the tune of 'Herby the Happy House Elf'. Shaking their heads, the men went to see the baby and Hermione, who was now, a little frighteningly, a Mum.

Kreacher served up a lovely spread, of oyster soup, broiled salmon, roast fig flitters served whole, Licker fish tongues in cream, beans in orange sauce, blanched carrot pudding and a terrine of neat's sweetbreads, with a giant blanc mange for dessert.

"Kreacher, we'll be eating leftovers for a month!"

"No, Master, everyone is finishing everything." From the determined look in his eye, Hermione rather agreed with him. They dug in and found the food delicious, if heavy.

After the meal (which took the best part of two hours), they all settled into the parlour, waiting for the hot spiced milk to cap things off. Motherhood, they were relieved to find, hadn't changed Hermione much. She and Malfoy kept giving one another disturbing looks, sort of secret and smiling, which made them both Harry and Ron very uncomfortable.

"So, Weasley-sorry, the other one-I hear you're courting Parkinson these days."

All movement ceased. "What?"

"Parkinson?"

"Well, I mean, I just asked her to eat dinner with Mum and Dad on Sunday."

Draco and Hermione exchanged the look again. "Stop that!"

"Stop what, Weasley?"

"The smug look. It's a married look if there ever was one."

"I should hope so, Ron. And it's not smug."

"Yes, it is."

"Mother, do Hermione and I have a smug married person look?"

"No, darling, of course not." Narcissa exchanged a similar one with Lucius and then turned to look at Ron. "Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, you and Miss Parkinson might like to come for tea? You might have your own look soon, after all."

"Oh, no, I mean, we'd love-I'd love-we aren't going to have a look for a long time. If ever."

"Why ever not? She's a very nice girl, quite suitable." Narcissa smiled. Ron's face went pale.

"She's right, Weasley. Parkinson'll come into half of Devon when she marries." Draco raised his eyebrows and Ron went pink, looking away.

Draco dropped his voice. "You're doomed. Once Mother decides something, that's it."

Ron made himself look bolder than he felt. "She can't possibly be worse than Hermione."

"That's what you think. I have them both to deal with." All three young men shuddered. Andromeda heard crying from upstairs. "It's Teddy. He wants his teething ring."

"Send an elf, Meddie."

"No, I want to get a heavier cloak anyhow. Excuse me." She left.

As the Malfoys had been waiting in the exam room in St. Mungo's, three men dressed as orderlies had crept into the Floo connexion and found themselves in Malfoy manor. They knew precisely where they were going. Bellatrix and Alecto were woken by them, and taken through the wards.

Bellatrix capered joyfully, waving her wand about. She ran to the family wing and got the other four through the wards, and sent one of the werewolves to get an owl. She herself wrote the note and sent it to her husband, and another to her lover.

The Floo hissed. Andromeda came through, distractedly wondering whether she ought to wear warmer stockings, only to be grabbed by rough hands. "Wha-"

"Stupify!" Everything went dark.

The centaurs were eating when they smelled it. Wolf. Dropping their food and arming themselves, they ran en masse to the edges of the Park. There were dozens, swallowing the potions, rippling, changing.

Bane whinnied a challenge and the wolves roared in response. They charged, and met with a huge and terrible tremor, as though the earth shook, and then it was battle.

Andromeda's eyes opened when a cold cloth gently lapped her neck. "Where 'm'I?"

"Shhh, Meddie." Andromeda tried to sit. "Bellatrix?"

"Meddie, lie still. It's all right."

"How-how are you here?"

"You aren't going to like this, Andromeda." She turned for a moment and beckoned. Fenrir Greyback came in. He was grinning. "Hello, Madam Tonks."

Andromeda had dreamt this moment. Feared it, feared him. Not now. She got out of the bed and walked to him. Greyback dwarfed her. She looked at up him for a moment. "You killed my son in law."

"Lupin, was it?" She didn't answer. Instead, she calmly looked him in the face and spat on him.

He roared and raised a hand to hit her, maybe kill her. Bellatrix was quicker, and managed to shield Andromeda before Greyback's hand could make contact. "Meddie, stop that at once!" Bellatrix used her best big sister look and realised just how much she'd need to help both her sisters remember themselves. As for right now, she settled for dragging Andromeda back to the bed and warding it, promising a serious talk later.

"Get some sleep, Meddie, I'll be back as soon as I can." She even remembered to spell down the lights before she left, closing the door behind herself.

Alecto was outside, being carefully watched by the human wolves. She had her wand back, at least. She watched the battle between the wolves and the centaurs, praying the wolves would fall back, the wolves would turn and could be ridden down.

A hand clamped down on her arm. "Alecto, you need to go to' they told her a place in Scotland' and fetch the others to bring them through. Go!"

She Apparated and there they were, and she led them back with fear in her heart.

The Goyles chose this moment to come back to the manor and were seized. The Death Eaters put them in their suite upstairs, wandless and guarded by several of the human wolves. From outside, the defiant shrieks of the centaurs rang out against the howls of the wolves.

"Where're the elves?" Greg whispered to his brother. 'They helped us before."

"Bellatrix commanded them to hide and they did. She lives her too, doesn't she?" The wolf smirked. They were waiting for their moment to strike.

It had been months since the Death Eaters had been in the manor but, Rodolphus thought, it never really changed. They fanned out, cleared it room by room, and finally realised the Malfoys had gone somewhere.

Bellatrix wouldn't let anyone else ask Andromeda. She went herself, and sat down on the bed beside her after having petrified her sister. For her own good, of course. "Bring him in."

A wolf shoved Greg, bound and gagged, into the room. Bellatrix stared emotionlessly at him a moment and then unfroze her sister, though she bound her to keep her from trying to run.

"Where did they go, Meddie?"

"Bellatrix, I-"

"Crucio." Greg was writhing, screaming in pain. "STOP IT!"

"Where did they go, Andromeda?"

"They're at Goyle Keep."

"Wrong answer. Crucio." Andromeda was sobbing. Bellatrix ended the spell and stroked her sister's hair. "Shhhh, it all ends when you tell me the password to Floo to where they are. Just like that and I won't hurt him anymore."

Andromeda didn't know what to do. "Trixie, don't hurt them."

"You have until five, Meddie. That's one."

"Please, Trixie."

"Two."

"My old house' she said desperately 'trying to see if we can sell it."

Bellatrix sighed. "You're lying. I can always tell. You get this shifty look when you lie, Meddie." She kept smoothing her hair. "I should kill him, by rights."

"Bellatrix, please! Don't hurt him!"

"Then tell me where they are."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

Andromeda made herself go limp, as though she'd fainted. Bellatrix snorted and called for the wolf. "Take him back and let him clean up. We'll try the obvious places and if they aren't there, we'll do it again."

She bent to Meddie's ear. "I know you're faking. Just you think of how Daddy feels, seeing this." She left her there to think on her behaviour in depth and walked to the parlour, which was set up as command headquarters. "Rodolphus can go to Potter's."

"Just like that, eh?"

Bellatrix nibbled her lip. "Andromeda can get through."

Andromeda was retrieved and gently handed to Rodolphus. "See she and Cissy aren't hurt, Rodolphus." Wormtail took a contigent of the others and they made for the lawn, to Apparate while Rodolphus and the others used the Floo.

Kreacher had brought the chimera's milk out, spiced with cinnamon and a touch of saffron. No one had wanted any, not after that rich meal. The Floo went green.

"It must be An-" Something felt off. Andromeda stumbled through. "It's a trap!"

Ron reached and tried to pull her from the Floo just as Rodolphus stepped through. He grabbed her back, held her against him. "Hello, all. Drop your wands and I won't kill her."

They did it. Rodolphus ordered them to sit back down and put their hands where they see them. Harry was closest the door. He gave Hermione a desperate look and she nodded once, and suddenly slumped to the side, eyes rolling.

"Grab her, idiots! Greyback won't like it if she's bruised. " Tibby appeared and was seized and petrified instantly.

Harry took advantage of the uproar. "Kreacher' he hissed 'milk!"

Kreacher understood at once, and was still chafed about the night of the ball, anyway. He took up the heavy cooking cauldron and Apparated to a point directly above Rodolphus's head.

"Trick Kreacher, will you?' he said, and dumped the whole thing on the Death Eater's head. Rodolphus fell like a stone, scalded , while Hermione jumped, lunging for her wand just as the others did the same.

The house was a melee of curses and screams. Hermione found herself duelling a masked Death Eater, Draco beside her, and being driven back before she gained the upper ground and stunned him. Snarling, the wolves darted back and forth, one attempting to pounce Lucius before discovering precisely why he'd been a feared Death Eater. Gasping, the man slipped on his own intestines and convulsed.

Percy Weasley, who'd gone to check on the babies, heard the fight, warded the door and ran down the stairs, blasting down one of them who'd tried to come up. He'd no idea who they were fighting or why, only that he wouldn't stand idly by.

"Avada Kadavra!" The playing round had stopped, and they went to the work of killing one another.

Draco was sprinting toward the stairs, heading for the nursery, taking them two at a time. He made it, found the door warded, and turned back to the battle in time to see Mother slump to the ground. He ran.

Rodolphus had recovered sufficiently to stand over Narcissa's prone form. He smiled, face swelling gruesomely, and picked her up. "All of you, with me. You, go and get the babies." He pointed to Percy, who went and got Teddy and Drusilla. Draco took his daughter, grimly determined that no one would hurt her. One by one, they got in the Floo and went to the manor, knowing the price for refusal was a life. They allowed Draco and Teddy to load the babies into their baskets and, well warded, strongly spelled to keep them asleep, and carefully covered, took them through the Floo.

The denizens of the Burrow had fared no better. Molly and Arthur, bound and gagged, were propped up with the Goyles. Greg was shivering violently, displaying all the symptoms of having been cruciated. Custard and her kits had been put under the bed and warded to keep them there.

It was a terrible reunion. None of them were dead, that was the main thing. Families congregated, and the three Malfoys clustered around Narcissa. Her breathing was calm and sure, but as they'd been disarmed, they had no way to diagnose what might have done. Lucius held his wife in his arms, while Draco took a hand and Hermione, holding Drusilla, sat on the other side.

The door flew open. Two werewolves came in, followed by a grinning Bellatrix. Her smile faded as she saw her sisters' bedraggled state. She went immediately to Narcissa and stroked her brow.

"Rodolphus! Why weren't you watching them?"

"You needn't shriek, Bellatrix. I did what I could. She's only stunned, not dead."

Bellatrix drew her wand and woke her up. "You and you, move her upstairs."

"We don't take orders from the Alpha's human whore."

Bellatrix, too, had been (still was) a feared Death Eater, and she reacted by making one of them plead to die. Satisfied, she ordered the other to bring her sisters to the room she and Alecto had shared, and this time the woman obeyed.

They scooted closer together, and Lucius reached out and took the baby, rocking her gently. He was prepared to die, but if it were his day, he wanted to be able to say he'd spent the last-or almost last-bits with the people he loved. He found a small part of himself feeling a little sorry that Hermione's parents would never get to hold their granddaughter, but he pushed it away and focused on the children. His children, and his granddaughter, for whom his son had nearly committed murder.

And still might. He smiled grimly. He was a lot of things, many of them reprehensible, but one thing he wasn't was willing to go without a fight. He motioned them closer and began to whisper.

They came for them an hour or so later. Marched between two columns of werewolves, the prisoners were brought into the salon and stood before a tribunal of five Death Eaters and five werewolves.

"A jury of your peers and all' sneered one of them.

Arthur Weasley, normally the most mild mannered of people, cocked his head. "You are not and never will be my peer, Augustus, but if this farce will salve your conscience, by all means, get on with it."

Rookwood looked ready to respond when Greyback pulled out a piece of Lucius' fine business vellum and started to read.

"You are all charged with blood treason, assisting the Order of the Phoenix, habouring the rogue mudblood Hermione Granger, abetting the blood traitors Lucius and Draco Malfoy, and assisting in the deaths of' and a long list of Death Eaters was read out.

"How do you plead?"

Arthur Weasley said 'I did it."

"You plead guilty?"

"I say I did it, and was proud. I'd rather be dead than anything like any of you."

"Molly Weasley, how do you plead?"

"Yes."

"Percy Weasley, how do you plead?"

Percy snorted. "This dumbshow is hardly worth acknowledging, but I suppose 'yes' is better than nothing."

"The other one, whatever his name is, how do you plead?"

George laughed. "Get stuffed. I'll not plead to a judge who doesn't know my name."

"Entered as 'yes'."

"Galten Goyle?"

"Fuck you."

"Antigone Goyle?"

"Twice."

"Gregory Goyle?"

"B-bleeding tossers." Greg spat on the floor.

They forced those who had pled to sit down and called Ron and Harry forward. Bellatrix, seeing Harry, set up such a shriek that she had to calmed for some moments in a whispered conference with Greyback.

"You're charged with regicide, bank robbery, conspiracy to commit the aforesaid, complicity in the crimes of the Order of the Phoenix, blood treason and theft. How do you plead?"

Harry and Ron looked at one another and laughed, and that was answer enough.

"Can we get on with it? This is a time waster."

"Well, Fenrir, we must do things by the book." Greyback snarled and backhanded Collins, who flew through the air, neck snapping and the others drew as one. Bellatrix sighed hugely. "Now now, wolf, do calm down. You'll get what you want quickly enough."

There came a knock at the door and the dandruffy, repulsive head of Peter Pettigrew poked in. "Rodolphus, Jugson has a question about-" He and Harry caught sight of one another at the same time. Wormtail hissed, and Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Potter."

"Wormtail. I'll kill you for this."

"Like to see you try." Harry, shaking with fury, sat quietly and waited for his time. Greyback grumbled and motioned them to bring Lucius forward. The hissing and cat calls were loud in the little room.

"You're charged with high treason, lesse majeste, blood treason, abetting the rogue mudblood Granger and harbouring the blood traitor Draco Malfoy. How do you plead?"

"A Malfoy never pleads for anything."

When asked mainly the same thing, Draco's reply was obscene enough to give his uncle pause. "Really, Draco, do show some dignity."

"You're one to talk, Uncle. We all know what your tastes run to." Rodolphus clenched his jaw but the others laughed. "He's got you there, Lestrange."

Greyback was staring openly as Hermione, holding her daughter, was brought forth. She stood very straight and looked all of them in the eye in turn. "How do you plead?"

"Father's told you our answer."

Hermione made herself meet Greyback's eye. He looked dirtier, and his hair was thicker and coarser than it had been. Had he been overindulging in the potion? Something tickled the back of her brain, and she wondered what any of this had to do with Masks.

The tribunal sent them away so they could 'deliberate'. They walked in silence, and ate the bread and water they were given in silence. Hermione fed both Drusilla and Teddy, covered by Draco's outer robes for modesty. They wouldn't know their fate for a while, and they cuddled together, finding courage in one another.

Alecto knew what she was doing was madness. She didn't care. She'd decided to die fighting, and that is what she'd do. She slipped into the darkness as the others were deliberating, and was surprised to find a young werewolf there, dressed in hospital whites. Neither of them had to say anything.

Alecto went south to London, while the false orderly went north to Wales. He sidled up to a number of people and whispered things. One of them was Galvin, who'd been stashed there for safe keeping. Along with some of these people, Galvin and the orderly went and freed the women and children in the pen. Leaving a few dozen of the women to hold down the camp and guard the children, they Apparated en masse to the Park and made their way to the centaur camp. "Don't shoot!' called Galvin, trailed by the false orderly 'we're on your side!"

Alecto went to a small village, to an address she'd got from the papers on Hermione's desk. She knocked on the window and Neville, seeing her, drew his wand. She dropped her own and knelt. "Summon the aurors, the Malfoys are in terrible danger." And so he did, and as they waited, Alecto kissed the floorboards at his feet and told him she repented of what she'd done to him as Augusta was calling Luna to come.

"There's no forgiveness for me, but I wanted you to know."

Neville looked down on her. "Why, Alecto?"

"Because with me or Amycus, we'd stop. If we'd been nicer, he'd have sent McNair or Bellatrix, and then you'd have been for it but good." She sat up and waited, and it was Kingsley who came, and he listened to the woman, and they went to try and do what they could.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: It's been simply ages. Madea's been so stingy with giving a turn, it's horrible. This chapter might be slightly easier to understand if one has read 'Offers Mad and Answers Given'. Also, our darling Countess Black is wondeful, and not nearly as tetchy as some muggles (it's not like she really *needs* that music thing. Also, I know one of you ratted me out, and I'm very hurt).**

** Let us know what you think,**

**Draco**

Bellatrix was finding that perhaps this would be a deal harder than she'd thought. Her sisters were weirdly resistant to her attempts to comfort them, for one; when she'd tried to hug Cissy to calm her down, Cissy had actually cringed from her.

She lay in the darkness, trying to ignore the way they were sniffling and generally being difficult. She rolled over, huffed, and cupped Meddie's shoulder. "Stop it and go to sleep. The mudblood has got the babies, everything is fine."

Well, until the killing started, but that was something to discuss later. She'd had to leave them longer than she liked, helping all the idiots reinforce the manor with spells and barricades to see they weren't interrupted. Those centaurs could come back any second, and it would keep the prisoners in even if they got out of the Goyles' rooms.

Andromeda got very still and then wiggled more to the middle of the bed, nearer Narcissa. "I swear, if this keeps up, I'm dosing you both with Dreamless Sleep." Neither of them said anything.

She felt restlessly, and decided she would go and get something for her sisters to eat, and the potions. They'd be all right soon. She tugged the duvet up and left them crying quietly into one another's shoulders, taking care to give them both a kiss on the cheek first.

Hermione was lying next to Draco, their daughter between them, sleeping. They'd spent a long time planning. She felt calm and very competent. Lucius had spoken to them at length about their options, and none of them were very good.

"Our best hope is that one of you escapes with Drusilla."

They'd both nodded. "We'll see if one of the elves can't take Hermione-"

"No. We've faced all this together. I'd never forgive myself if I abandoned you now."

"Hermione-"

Hermione shook her head. "Let Leesy take the babies to Bill and Fleur's." She squeezed Draco's hand and he swallowed hard. "Love, Drusilla needs you."

"She needs both of us, and her grandparents. If even one of them escapes, they'll come for us. Let it end now."

Lucius reached out and gently touched her cheek. "I should order you to go."

"Father, a hairbrush smacking is the least of my worries now."

He laughed a little. "Has the candle in the window helped, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled tiredly. "Not as much as turning them over the Ministry will, Father."

His plan hinged on a thread, a millionth of a chance. But he, too, believed in hope, and when he saw the first signs of post cruciating malady in the younger Goyle, he knew he'd gambled right. He waited until the boy's groans were audible well outside the room before he turned to the wolf.

"Young man, Mr. Goyle is ill. Allow my elf to get him something to relax the cramping in his muscles."

"Sod off."

Hermione stood up and made her way to him. "I'll tell Greyback if you don't."

"So? You're only the Alpha's bit of fluff, like the other one." Lucius' and Draco's eyes nearly bugged from their heads, hearing that and really processing it, but Hermione only smiled. "Now I am. Tomorrow…things change.' She dropped her voice to a low, caressing whisper. "I could always tell him you tried to touch me. How would he like that?"

The wolf swallowed hard. "But if I do it…"

"We won't tell anyone. Just help us and I'll see you're rewarded." Hermione's smile did the trick, and the wolf allowed them to call Minky.

"Minky, assist me from the room, please."

The wolf shook his head and raised his wand. "I can't let you-" The elf dropped him before he said another word. Hermione beamed. "Wonderful, Minky. Now please bind him and call the rests of the elves here. Tell them to arms themselves and get our wands."

Within seconds they were all rearmed, Greg had been dosed to help with the massive cramping, and the elves were congregating in the rooms, holding frying pans and gardening tools and candlesticks, and ready to kill for their family.

Having kissed the babies, they handed them to Leesy to send her to Bill's. She tried the windows and couldn't move. Children under puberty can't be Apparated; brain damage is nearly guaranteed.

Something was beating at Hermione's mind, something terribly urgent. "Father? Where did you keep your robes and mask?"

"Sorry?"

"Your robes and mask, Father. The Ministry never found them. Where were they?"

"The tombs, in Tertullius' crypt. He wanted a Viking funeral" They exchanged a long look and Draco put a bubble head charm on both babies and gave them to Leesy. "Don't let them get taken, Leesy."

It was time. They all embraced, and Draco and Hermione even got to share a quick kiss. They were both reminded of the night Dumbledore had died, and forced it down. Greg released the kneazles and spent a moment talking to Custard. "Hid them, Custard, and yourself. I'll come back for you, all right?" She yowled mournfully, as though she sensed fell deeds approaching, but picked up the first kit and prepared to run. Hermione scratched Toffee's soft ears, wishing they'd had more time.

Galten whispered it was clear, and they fanned out, silent, looking to end it once and for all.

The mob in the forest approached the house was looking for blood. It was in every face, every footfall, every sound. The centaurs broke into a run, and not being human, cleared the wards at once.

The werewolves were waiting for them. They sprang, snarling, smarting from the pasting they'd taken, and the centaurs met them with arrows and slashing hoofs. The human wolves streamed by, helped across by Galvin and ferrying their fellows as fast as they could. Nearly a thousand strong, they were a surging tide, and when the first cry came, others joined it, so the very ground shook and the birds flew from the trees.

"**GREYBACK**!"

"**VENGEANCE**!"

Bane reared and boomed above them all. "**FOLLOW ME**!" They did.

When the aurors arrived, it was to anarchy on the lawn. Alecto grabbed Shackelbolt, who grabbed Bill Weasley, who grabbed Dawlish, and they pulled themselves over the wards as the desperate battle in the garden raged around them. The gardens were a blur of centaur and wolf, with the human wolves trying desperately to breech the wards. The Death Eaters had opened the windows and were taking pot shots at the crowds below, felling some.

Galten and Alecto ran to one another and embraced for a long moment. Then she grabbed him in one hand and Shacklebolt in the other and Apparated them all to the tower. She pointed the way and continued her impromptu fire brigade ferry service, until all of them were inside.

Alecto landed once again, to see they were all inside, and felt a Stinging hex hit her, spun to see Severus Snape, along with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, and a frowning old woman who must have been the Longbottom boy's grandmother.

Alecto grabbed the children and Snape, none too chivalrously, grabbed Augusta. They Apparated together and the five of them followed the sounds of battle. They heard a high pitched laugh and spun as Bellatrix stormed into view. She was opening her mouth to scream a jinx when a spell hit the wall a centimetre from her head.

She spun and Draco thundered into view. "Go! Help them!" Bellatrix fired back and they raced pass, not without some hesitation from Neville. But then, he'd had his say with Bellatrix. Rodolphus, on the other hand…

Hermione was in the thick of it. She was beside Andromeda, dodging hexes and throwing them back when she became aware that there were others fighting with them. She didn't care. All she cared about was the next spell, the next dodge.

She heard Harry yell something and the doors flew open. He raced by. "Wormtail! Stand and fight!"

One of the human wolves grabbed it and threw it. It started to change, melting, and Peter Pettigrew stood up and began to fire hexes at Harry.

Andromeda lunged, and cried out as a burning hex glanced off her arm. Hermione couldn't look. She was duelling Rookwood, and he was slyer than sly. She narrowly ducked an Entrail Expelling curse, and then managed to drive him back a little.

Draco fired another hex, breathing hard. He realised they were near his and Hermione's rooms, and he ducked inside, desperate for a rest. He crawled into the heavy wardrobe and slumped against the back, behind his winter robes. He could smell Hermione's perfume, and the faint scent of muggle talc.

"Did you hear that?"Draco froze. He was dead. He'd never see Hermione or Drusilla again. The voices-Jugson and Wilkins?- got closer. "I heard something, Wilkins. Let's look-"

Salvation came from the unlikeliest places imaginable. From the sitting room, Draco heard a voice. "GJlekeZXkWjl! ElrnWrnrj! Qek, OHKkekeGennb!"

"What the hell?"

"Portraits! Damn it, that's all you heard."

"No, I heard something else."

"Perhaps the sounds of my nap, sirs, which you so RUDELY interrupted! No respect from young people these days!" Bless Io and her bitterness. Then Grandmother and Grandfather started in. It was his cue.

"Stupify!"

He missed. Draco was cursing himself when a blur of ginger fur flew from under the divan and attached itself to one of them, howling. It was Custard. Screeching, she clawed the Death Eater as the other tried futilely to aim.

Draco got them this time. Custard retreated to her den under the divan, nodding in a satisfied way. Draco looked carefully down the corridors and took off to find Bellatrix.

The tide downstairs was turning. Hermione couldn't let herself get distracted. Bellatrix raced by and the Floo went green. The cork pop of Apparition was everywhere, like at Hogwarts. Her stomach dropped, remembering the final Battle. It dropped even more when she was knocked down by someone huge and foul smelling, and dragged to the Floo without so much as a how do you do. Behind her, a stream of people came, the detritus of the third battle of Malfoy manor.

Kingsley Shacklebolt thought his day couldn't possibly get any worse. He'd fought in the manor for what seemed hours but what must have been minutes, until a howl went up that shook the windows.

Realising they'd been left to their fates, the bulk of the Greyback's boys still were trying to escape. They were smashing windows, jumping from the roof, trying to get out the front door. Some of them opted to stay and fight; Kingsley saw one go gown, battling no fewer than three aurors, roaring until he was felled.

Of the ones who breached the house itself, and the wards, few made it any further than the garden. Their former pack mates, whom they had terrorised and threatened, were howling for blood, and they got it. The roses grew richer that summer, and every summer after, from the blood which soaked the snow and the soil below it.

Of those who did flee, the centaurs mainly finished them and left them for the birds to have. They wanted fine pelts from warriors, not the worthless human skins of wretched, craven child takers.

The rest of the human wolves surrendered en masse, putting their hands up and waiting for the Ministry to arrest them. Kingsley, dealing with this logistical nightmare, was given an owl from St. Mungo's. Greyback was there, along with the final remains of the Death Eaters and his best boys. He had a list of demands. And Hermione Malfoy.

Hermione, had somehow been appointed caretaker of Rodolphus Lestrange, who was dying. He'd been hit by a Sectumsempra (Snape? Harry?) and it had been poorly healed by one of the werewolves. His lips were going blue, and he kept asking her, over and over, to find his brother.

"Rabastan is dead, Rodolphus. You know that."

He was shivering. Hermione, sickened at having to touch him, could not find it in herself to abandon an injured person, and sat with him. "Where is my brother?" He asked for the fifth time.

Every time he'd ask, she'd answer "He's coming." Rodolphus suddenly opened his eyes. "Draco's…mudblood.' He laughed, and it turned into a wheeze. 'Niece. My…niece. You're the only one to…stay with me." The irony was not lost on Hermione, either, and she pressed her lips together and offered him some water.

"Why don't…you kill…me…_niece_?" She held his head so he could sip.

"Because I want the Ministry to take you. You aren't worth my soul, Rodolphus." He laughed again and lapsed back into the shadow land of delirium.

The Ministry was sending counter demands and offers to Greyback. Hermione was watching him from the corner of her eye. He slammed a hand down on the table and cursed vilely for nearly a full minute. "Fuck this!"

Bellatrix laughed softly. "What's wrong, wolf? Ministry not playing nice?" He turned and growled. It was a belly growl, and something ancient in all them fought the urge to panic and run, hearing it. It harkened back to caves and stones and fires to ward off animals in the night.

Except Bellatrix. "Once we both get what we want, wolf, you can do anything you want with them."

Rodolphus coughed and tried to sit. "Both? You don't…believe that…Trixie?"

Bellatrix turned. "What are you on about, Rodolphus?"

"He… means to… use…your sisters…as hos…tages." Hermione went pale as Bellatrix drew on her husband. "YOU LYING SOD!"

"No…it's…true. Why lie…now?"

Bellatrix turned to Greyback. "He's lying, isn't he, Fenrir?"

"You're just mad I fucked your wife, Lestrange."

Rodolphus shook his head. "No. Would've had to….kill…most of…Death Eaters…then."

"Why would you help me ?"

Rodolphus pulled himself straighter on the bed, seeming to find some dignity left within himself. "You…are…my…wife."

From outside, Mother's voice came, amplified. "TRIXIE, IT'S I. END THIS."

Bellatrix grabbed Hermione and dragged her to the window. "NO. COME UP HERE."

"IF WE DO, WILL YOU LET HERMIONE GO?"

"MAYBE. BOTH OF YOU COME."

Lucius and Draco watched, wondering whether they'd both be widowers at day's end. Draco slid his hand into Father's and Father squeezed, both of them thinking about the babies hidden in Tertullius' final abode. Andromeda turned to Draco. "If I should die, care for Teddy."

"We'll raise him as our own, I promise."

Greyback whirled around. "No, Bellatrix! If we let them in, they'll find a way to let others in as well."

"Don't be stupid, they're my sisters." Bellatrix yelled for the Death Eaters to escort them, and the doors of the hospital opened slowly. The two women came inside. They felt very calm, both of them, knowing they could die and knowing equally that if Trixie would listen to anyone, it would be them.

As they created a diversion, the aurors were working, In the sewers, a trained house elf was quietly vanishing manhole covers. A small group was trailing them, made up of select aurors, the Minister himself, and two Malfoys. Behind them, the Goyles crept on as softly as they could, with Ron and Harry keeping pace in grim silence, and the remains of the Order and Dumbledore's Army both. They were all praying the women could buy time.

Bellatrix smiled as they came inside, but it turned to a frown at once. "Meddie, your arm. What happened?"

"Just a hex, Trixie."

Narcissa gave Hermione a smile. Bellatrix leant over and got her sister by the shoulder. "Cissy, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at her. She's a mudblood, remember?"

Narcissa asked for chairs to be brought. "Do you remember when Draco was born, Bellatrix?"

"Of course."

"You sat in the salon and sewed the tenth day gown."

"I remember."

"You were the first to hold him, after Lucius and myself."

She nodded distantly. "He was very small and red."

"They always are. Dora, she looked like a little lobster, all wrinkled and screaming."

"And then…you went and did that terrible thing to those people."

"The Longbottoms."

"Yes. They had a baby too. Neville. You met him."

"Yes." Bellatrix frowned sharply, and Narcissa made herself take her sister's hand.

"Did you know, at the time?"

"Of course. We thought him the chosen one, I suppose, since the Dark Lord had killed the mudblood and Potter. We thought perhaps He'd been mistaken, somehow."

"But did they tell you about their baby?"

"Said he wasn't in the house. Pled for him. Asked us not to hurt him."

"When we found out Hermione was expecting Drusilla, we asked you to help us cure whatever you'd done. Your refused, and I told you I wasn't sure I'd still feel the same about you."

Bellatrix patted the hand which was holding hers. "Is there a point, Cissy?"

"You've hurt a good many people, Bellatrix. Ruined lives. This is one life you needn't ruin. You have the power. Tell him to let Hermione free and leave the hospital, and perhaps it will help mitigate the terrible things you've done." Bellatrix sighed. "You wouldn't understand, Cissy."

"Understand what?"

"They've corrupted you. I know you love them, but it'll be better once we've gone away, I promise."

The aurors were getting steadily closer. They were in the kitchens now. They had the help of the elves, of course, but much of it was luck. A little more, keep her talking…let them stay sane just a quarter of an hour more.

"I hurt you when I married Ted."

"We've been over this, Meddie."

"This will hurt people too. Don't you want to spare them?"

"It's not at all the same, Andromeda, and you know it. We all loved you, and you left us for a mudblood."

"If you hurt these people, or let them get hurt, you'll have done what I did on a grand scale. Is that what you want?"

"Stop it, Meddie. Being amongst all the blood traitors has tainted your mind. Daddy-"

"Daddy would be appalled at this and you know it. He wouldn't want you to hurt these people! He wouldn't want you to give Hermione to that _thing_! He loves you, Trixie, and so do I, but this is not the sister I remember."

"The Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord used you, like he used Draco and Lucius and everyone else. He didn't care about you. He didn't care about anyone."

Bellatrix went white. "STOP IT!"

"YOU STOP IT! If He loved you, would He have made you do all those terrible things?"

Narcissa took up where Andromeda left off. "The things you've done for His sake will never be erased, Bellatrix. What kind of leader wants a country built on the bodies of defiled children? What kind of wizard, what kind of man, would let that happen? Would encourage it? I'm thankful every day that He's dead."

"You don't understand.

"I don't. You've waded through so much blood you aren't even human anymore. I'm glad Daddy is dead, so he doesn't have to tell people he created you. A hospital, Bellatrix? Your own grandniece?"

Bellatrix was torn between rage and hurt. "Daddy ought to have never let you go, Meddie. He should have made you come back, and perhaps then you'd understand that a person does what they must to make a better world."

"Nothing that happened was better, Bellatrix. Just a lot of death." Andromeda's voice was bitter and old. "I wasn't there. I had to go and claim them the next day. She needed me, and I wasn't there, but what could I have done?" She laughed mirthlessly.

"Would it matter if I went with you, Bellatrix? If I promised never to return here, and to live my days in exile with you? Would it assuage you somehow?" It was a worthy sacrifice, the lives of all these people in return for her misery, and Teddy would be cared for, she had no doubt. Draco and Hermione would be the best parents a child could want, if their devotion to Drusilla and one another was any guide.

Bellatrix cocked her head. "It's not that easy, Meddie. You could come, but if your attitude hasn't changed, it's no good. The Dark Lord used to say that wrong thoughts are the hardest crime to stop and the easiest one to commit." She was totally sincere, thought Narcissa with horror. She means this.

"What would you have me do?"

"Tell me you regret it."

"Fine. I regret hurting you-all of you-very much."

Bellatrix shook her head. "No, Meddie. Say that the mudblood was a mistake and your daughter should never have been."

Andromeda looked like she was going to faint. Her lips were colourless. "No."

"Meddie…"

"Kill me, then. I won't do that."

"Not even to save all these people?" Bellatrix wished she could spare Andromeda this. It was like cutting infected flesh away, she thought. It was hard, it hurt, but in the end Meddie would be all better, and she'd understand.

Andromeda's shoulders were shaking with sobs. "Bellatrix, please…" She needed a little encouragement, Bellatrix thought, and raised her wand. "Do it or the mudblood dies."

Andromeda thought of those she'd loved and lost. They were dead and beyond suffering, but Hermione was not. Draco and Drusilla were not. She found it in herself to apologise, once, silently, and then she did it.

Bellatrix beamed. "Now, was that so bad?"

Andromeda had dropped her head in her hands. She was past responding. Her self loathing, her anger and shame, were too strong. She felt someone touch her, hug her, and her sister's voice said, very softly "Cry, Meddie, it's all right. I'm here."

Hermione felt ill, watching what Bellatrix had made her sister do. Poor Andromeda…poor all of them. Greyback was watching her. She could feel his eyes crawling on her skin like worms.

"I'm going to enjoy taking you, mudblood. Over…and over…and over again."

Hermione straightened up and, doing her best impression of Lucius, said coolly "Really, that's what you're thinking about?"

"What?"

"Every auror in Britain is outside. Your people are all dead at the manor, and you're stuck in St. Mungo's with nowhere to go. And all you can think about is that?"

Greyback laughed. "What a brave little bitch you are."

She sighed and went back to Rodolphus, who was muttering again. Her husband…her daughter…her parents. She wished she could have seen them just once more. Shown them their grandchild. Scratched Crookshanks' belly.

But none of that would matter if she failed. If she died, she would die, as Father had told her ages ago, knowing her duty was done and she could finally, finally rest, that there was no point at which she could have turned the tide and opted against it.

Bellatrix was rocking Andromeda, murmuring to her. "Shhh, shhh. I know, I know, shhh." Andromeda curled tighter into a ball into her chair and said nothing. Narcissa was watching the door.

Hermione let her gaze drift that way. There was movement outside. Wolves? Aurors? Death Eaters? She made herself wet a rag from the puddle which had been the jug and put it on Rodolphus' head. She hoped they would come soon.

When it happened, it happened fast. The wolves were lounging about the corridors of St. Mungo's and then they were there, all of them. Wormtail ducked into a room and the occupant started to scream. Wormtail spun on the man, took aim, and-

"Sectumsempra!" Dropped to the floor, bleeding. The man looked to Harry Potter and smiled gratefully. "Thanks, mate." Harry nodded and ran to join the fight, hoping they were not too late. It had been pure chance…but pure chance can feel damned good.

Draco shoved past Weasley and ran down the corridor. "BELLATRIX! BELLATRIX!"

Bellatrix ran out and faced her nephew. "You're too late. The mudblood is dead." She was laughing.

Draco had once told Hermione that he wouldn't have been able to kill Dumbledore because he didn't hate enough. Bellatrix herself had mocked him, saying that was her legacy to him. She was right. His hatred was cold, colder than fear or his desire to save Hermione or anything else, and he felt his arm swish, tensed, and

"Avada Kadavra!" Bellatrix, still laughing, fell.

He was in the corner with her. "Give it up, Greyback."

Hermione's face lit up to see her husband. Sometimes being petite has it's advantages, she thought, as she drove an elbow low into his stomach, almost into his groin. Greyback was strong, but he'd been sure she wouldn't dare fight with his wand to her neck, and the shock made him loosen just a touch. Hermione jerked forward, and Draco managed to grab her hand.

But Greyback still held her, and he leapt from the window with her in his arms. Hermione, desperate, tried to Apparate, and he came with her, holding her like he was.

The Battle of St. Mungo's, as it came to be called, could have been worse. Seventeen patients were killed by rampaging wolves, among them Polynices Parkinson. He'd been correct in his judgement he would die at St. Mungo's, after all.

Nevillle Longbottom came into the room to get Madam Tonks and found Rodolphus, breathing his last. He sat beside the man who had tortured his parents into insanity and, seeing him dying alone, felt a powerful swell of pity and revulsion. The same impulse which guided him to lead the DA at great personal cost, his love of living things and respect for them, made him take the man's hand and chant the words, releasing his anima from his body.

"You don't deserve it' he told the anima, which was close 'but I won't have you disturbing my Mum and Dad." And then he'd wrapped Madam Tonks in his cloak and, apologising for the smell, led her to the med-station to be evaluated.

Lucius was holding his wife and crying softly. Narcissa was not. She'd seen her sister die, and her son had done it, and felt nothing but relief. Bellatrix could never harm them again. Draco appeared and gasped that Greyback had taken Hermione, and immediately got Gregory and Weasley and Potter to help him find her.

She wished she could tell him she was proud of him, and still loved him, and understood. But right now there was a final task to perform. As Neville had done his duty to the dead, they would do theirs to the living and find Hermione. Narcissa just hoped they would find her alive.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:**

**Love to reviewers.**

**And my darling Countess Black.**

**This is NOT the end. Is there anything beside the obvious you might like to see resolved? What do you think Antigone's note said?**

**Madea, being pounced by a kitten. Where the devil is Lucius, he's usually her preferred victim...**

They touched down in the Great Hall, where the wounded and dying lay moaning. Hermione had no time to give them aid; her feet hit the floor and she was up the stairs like a rabbit, running for her rooms.

Greyback was hot on her trail. He knew there was a sea change inside himself; as he watched, the hair on his arms was thickening. He'd always been hairy, even as a human, but now it was coming in big, uneven mats. It hurt. The pain drove him to rage and the rage seemed to be accelerating the process.

He took the stairs three at a time, shoving people down, leaping over the wounded. Hermione slammed her door just in time, warded it and looked frantically around. "Lemmy! Tibby!" They appeared at once. "Help!"

The elves looked at one another gravely and nodded. Hermione could hear him pounding on the door, and the wards would hold him only so long. She had a sudden, desperately painful moment of doubt, but she trusted her own impulses and mouthed 'The crypt'. Tibby vanished with her as the door was breeched and Greyback smashed his way in. Lemmy DisApparated, and he roared in frustration, mauling the bed before he took off in pursuit.

Alecto was dragging herself along. There was blood everywhere, but she didn't know what was hers. She leant against the wall and tried not to black out. She wanted to live, but she found she wanted to atone even more. She'd find Greyback and kill him, if she could. She could do that, at least, and perhaps buy herself a measure of peace.

Greyback was racing from room to room, howling with anger. He'd noticed absently that his teeth were lengthening and his nails, too, were growing. She was nowhere to be found. He was sure he'd had her, positive, and when he realised the trick which had been played, he bellowed furiously and ran downward, checking every room, smashing everything he could smash.

Hermione found Tertullius' tomb easily. Leesy appeared, sobbing. "You is alive!"

"The babies?" They were all right, still asleep, safe for the nonce. Hermione leant against Drusilla's tomb and whispered a prayer. "Help us. Please."

Drusilla the elder was watching everything. The dead cannot directly interfere, but they can influence things by inches and do. As Hermione watched, a swirling veil came from the tombs and coalesced into faces familiar from the portraits, into faces which bore some hint of her Mum or Dad (or vice verse, really), and some who were strangers to her.

The pointed and she followed with her eyes to the altar, where preparations had been made for a sacrifice, just in case. The braids of hair. Sacred wine. A brazier. The flowers which Mother had ordered them to twine in Luna's sacrifice. The knife they'd used to pair the honeysuckle vine…knife…brazier…wine… Hermione hefted the knife. If she had to, if there was no other way, she could spare them Greyback, at least. And for herself…what is death? A moment of pain, a quick tearing away of the soul and then, only rest. But there was this last thing, a final duty. She held the knife and waited.

"Light the brazier, Leesy."

Greyback came barrelling down the hall, and Alecto calmly stepped from her hiding place. "Fenrir!"

He spun. "Let her alone."

He stepped closer. "What business is it of yours, Alecto?"

"It's over, Greyback. Turn yourself in."

"And if I won't?"

Alecto could feel the blood pooling in her shoes and knew, finally it was hers. She thought of the children she'd tortured, and wondered whether any of them would ever feel safe at school again, whether they'd always be afraid that a wrong answer, a wrong look, might have them screaming on the floor and calmly raised her wand.

"Last chance, Fenrir."

When he threw the first hex she was ready for him.

Snape was tending the wounded and dying when the Malfoys returned, along with the Goyles and the two Gryffindors, all looking angry enough to kill. Draco took off at once, the others boys in hot pursuit, and Lucius immediately told Snape what had happened.

"And Bellatrix?"

"Dead."He raised an eyebrow. "Greyback?"

"Draco." Narcissa looked very calm and very able, and she was walking to the door as she spoke. "I only wished I'd have done it myself." Snape made a mental note to congratulate his godson and went back to work, trying to heal those he could.

Greyback blasted the door and stepped over Alecto-who might or might not have been dead, he didn't bother to find out- and made his way downstairs. He could smell her. Her heart was pounding. And he could smell the children, too-nearly scentless, with that mealy, clean smell of infancy. He chortled and walked deeper into the belly of Malfoy manor. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Hermione crouched down lower. Perhaps he wouldn't hear. Perhaps-

"I'm going to make you watch while I eat your baby. Children are wonderful because they scream so. The other one I'll take as a slave. We can always use fresh meat. So to speak."

He was almost on her, relishing it, stretching out the hunt. He wondered whether she'd beg him; that would be fun.

Hermione smelled him. He smelt like greasy hair and old blood and something animal and dark and terrifying. She could tell he was close. The knife was very heavy in her hand.

Greyback was nearly on her. He could almost see…what? A flash of something, smell of fire, and an elf jumped from the tomb and thrust something hot over his head. He screamed, and could not have made a less human sound if he'd wanted to. The Mask had fallen away at last.

Hermione watched as Greyback tore the brazier from his head, burns on top of the slashes scarred into his face from Ron's spell so long ago. She prepared herself to die.

He howled, and she could see the fur on him even in the dark. He wasn't human anymore, not truly, and she came at him with the knife. Leesy was still harrying him, screeching, and with a swipe of his hand-paw-he tore her down, breaking her neck.

Hermione darted in. The knife was sharp, and she was small, and he didn't expect her to dive for him and, barely missing his claws, stab him in the stomach right to the hilt. It was hard; Greyback was well muscled, and Hermione had to lean on the blade to get it in, and then dance backward as he flailed, growling and bellowing in his agony. He pulled the knife out and went at her again, in pain which would have crippled a man but only made him angry.

Hermione dove again, feeling the wolf's blood on her, and grabbed for the knife, slashing desperately at his calf, and then trying to rise. He got the back of her shirt, and she had a momentary glimpse of a nightmare maw, a stink of charnel house and fly blown meat ringed by finger length fangs, before she rammed the knife, as hard as she could, into his throat.

He dropped, and she nearly broke a bone, hitting the floor with terrible force. Greyback was juddering and gurgling wetly. She backed off, watching him die.

Fenrir could see. As he watched, ghosts came from every corner. Some of them he recognised as , Death Eaters, friends, pack mates. Some were strangers but bore the unmistakable stamp of Malfoy ancestry. Some were muggles he'd killed and eaten because he could.

He tried to reach for the knife, to pull it out, and found it was like moving through cold aspic. The dead crowded around him, pinning him down. From a million kilometres, he heard the sounds of footsteps and voices, but he could do nothing. The dead were covering him, and they waited with endless patience until his heart slowed, struggled, and then beat no more.

They found her ten minutes later. Covered in blood, she was stabbing the wolf's body, sobbing. Ron disarmed her while Harry went for the babies, who had, miraculously, slept through it all.

Draco cleaned her face and embraced her, and the two of them spent a long moment that way. "Bellatrix?"

"I killed her."

"Mother and Father? Andromeda?"

"All fine. Everyone is fine. You did it, love."

"We did it." He bent and carried her out of there, back into the land of the living, as their friends brought the babies and the dead returned to their final rest, having done their duty to the living.

The War finally ended that day, January 2, 1999. The cost was steep. Of the people who fought for the Ministry, twenty two were killed or permanently injured. Several more took terrible injuries which took months or years to heal.

Galvin came through with no major injuries, and the pardon he'd been promised. Lucius asked him to go to the Italian property to managed it, and he agreed. The kneazles were also fine, and Custard, for her help, received a special Order of Merlin, fifth class, which she wore about her neck on special occasions. It was the first time anyone had given such a thing to a kneazle.

The Weasleys were all right as well. Molly, on seeing Bellatrix's corpse, had spat on it. "You'll never hurt our children again." All of them were given the Order of Merlin, second class, and offers to write books. Molly's Helpful Hints to the Housewitch sold a million copies and allowed Arthur the option to retire early.

He didn't take it. He stayed in his old office, advising Shacklebolt and collecting weird muggle curiosities. He got Hermione a number of muggle children's books for Drusilla and was slightly disturbed when she burst into tears of joy.

Percy passed his advocacy exam and, aside from being Lucius Malfoy's private council, went to work to help were beasts and other beings achieve equal rights. He had a song for every part of the exam.

Draco and Hermione went to hospital to get looked over. Mother and Father were there. Draco was afraid, until Narcissa took his face in her hands and kissed his brow. "Oh, darling." He pressed himself to her and wept, while Lucius and Hermione joined the hug as well. "She meant to kill you, love. We understand."

And they did. Being as they were next of kin for both Lestranges, they faced a dilemma. They couldn't refuse to deal with the situation, but neither did they want to soil the family tomb with the mortal remains of those people who'd cost them all so much.

Antigone Goyle got invited to talk to Kingsley Shacklebolt. The man offered her a tea and waited while her new elf fixed it for her. "Well done, Minny."

"I understand you have no urge to rebuild on the sight of Mallow House?"

"That's right. Tainted, it is."

"The Ministry would like to offer to buy it from you for a reasonable amount. We need something to do with the remains of the Death Eaters." Antigone laughed aloud, thinking of how mad her Da would be, and then agreed.

Before, though, she went with her family to the ruins. They'd brought the ritual stuff from Goyle Keep, along with a number of offerings. Galvin chanted the prayers and then released Hecuba's troubled anima from her tenure, restoring her to her rightful place with the ancestors at last.

"Your duty is done. Go now, until the day when all that's lost is found again." Antigone asked whether she could have some time alone and sat beside the brazier.

The sky was blue and cold and bright. She sat on the cold, rocky ground and started feeding the offerings to the flames, a little at a time. "Mam? I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't a very good daughter, but I-damn it, you left me! You left me with him!" She took a deep breath and dropped her head into her hands, not knowing what to say or how to say it. She felt a hand on her shoulder and smelt jonquil cologne, and something inside her told it was safe to say what she wanted to, and she yielded.

"You were sick, Mam. Hermione says there's drugs that muggles have might've fixed you, but…we both tried our best, didn't we? I still feel sort of angry, but we can…we can try some more. Can't we?"

The wind picked up, carrying the first hint of spring flowers, and it seemed to Antigone they had all the time in the world. So she fed the flames with miniature spirit robes, and shoes, and underclothes, and a cunning little paper kneazle, and everything else her Mam would need. The next to last thing was a bottle of cologne, and then a folded note. She couldn't say it aloud, not yet, but Mam could read fine.

The elder Drusilla, watching this, felt both pleased and sad. She hated it when people cried, and she'd never really be old enough to understand that tears can mean a good many things, but she turned from the scene and saw something surprising.

She'd seen plenty of hungry ghosts in her day, but this one was filling out. Literally, as in gaining weight and colour. As they all watched, the expression of grief left the ghost's-anima's?- face, and an expression of contentment took it's place.

There was something familiar about her. Drusilla studied the woman and then looked at Antigone. Same nose, she saw. Same chin, same eyes. She'd only ever seen Hecuba Mallow at the distance, but Drusilla screwed up her courage and slid off of the lap she'd been on ( Sirius, this time) and approached her.

"Are you Antigone's mother?"

"I am." The woman held out a hand and Drusilla took it, and together they watched as Antigone fed the note to the flames. Hecuba held up her hand as it materialised, and then read it. She laughed, and Drusilla cocked her head, looking so Draco like it was almost eerie.

"What's funny?"

Hecuba shook her head. "She tries, Antigone."

Drusilla nodded. " May I pet your kneazle? And we've tea and cakes. Come with me?" And they went off together, kneazle and all, to the find tea, cakes, and the whole world.

Greg and Milly were married, and to Greg's surprise, he found he liked the baby making thing very much. Fortunately, so did Milly. His Da scraped together the funds to send the newly weds to Rome for three days, and suffice it say neither of them would know the Coliseum if it bit them on the ear, so preoccupied were they. He was very grateful Hermione had spoken with Milly first so she wouldn't be afraid.

One night, Andromeda went to sleep and found her Daddy sitting beside her. He opened his arms and she went to him, and pressed her face into his shoulder. He said nothing, just held her like that. "We need to talk about it, Newt."

"I can't. It hurts too much, Daddy."

"I know." He held her tighter. "But it's for her good, too. So she can join us, one day, once she's made amends."

"How can she?"

"It will be the work of lifetimes, but you can help by forgiving her, and the first step is admitting you hate her a little."

"A lot, Daddy."

"That's all right. But you'll never feel better unless you admit that to yourself."

Andromeda nodded. "Stay with me?"

"Of course." He tucked her in and sat with her until she was sleeping peacefully. Smoothing her hair, he kissed her cheek. "Don't think I've forgot about those skipped meals, either, my girl." But that was for another night, and repeated the process with his youngest, his darling Echo.

"Cissy, do you remember why I called you that?"

Narcissa shook her head and snuggled closer, relaxing totally for the first time in ages. "No, Daddy."

"Because as soon as you could walk, you were following your sisters. 'Wait! Wait!', we could hear it all through the house. You were their little echo."

"Daddy…"

He put his hand to her cheek. "I know it hurts, love, but you have to try."

"I'm not sure I can, Daddy. She did terrible things."

"Yes, she did. And you don't have to forgive her if you can't, Cissy. But try for me?"

Andromeda came to her sister that afternoon, as she was resting, and for the first time in forever, she looked herself again. She crawled into the bed and, side by side, they talked about Bellatrix, the good and bad, the wonderful person she'd been and the sadistic wreck she'd become, and her attempts, at the end, to find a happy ending that didn't exist anymore.

Harry was cleared of all wrong doing in the death of Peter Pettigrew. He found it brought him little satisfaction. Killing Wormtail would never bring his parents back. But there was a spate of nieces and nephews, and he and Ginny were married that spring.

Ron Weasley was at the shop when Parkinson bustled in, face flushed. She was smiling, and after greeting George, she promptly pushed past him and tugged Ron toward the back of the shop.

Reaching into her pocket, she handed him something. His eyes went wide. "This….what?"

"Mother and Father like you. And I suppose I've met less tolerable people than yourself."

"Wait, you mean…."

"There's a condition."

"Parkinson, I'm not going to propose because your father offered me a generous bride price." Pansy's eyes filled and she opened her mouth, but Ron pressed on. "I'm proposing because I want to spend my life with you." He grinned and handed her the ring box from his waistcoat pocket.

Pansy gasped. "Weasley! How did you-"

"I came over late last night. Harry's my second." She nodded and handed him the paper she'd brought.

Ron grabbed her hand and, laughing, dragged her to the front register, where George was carefully arranging the latest prank wands.

"George, consider this my two weeks' notice."

George whirled around. "What? But Ron, you-wait, what are you up to?" Ron handed him the paper and George cursed in shock. "You're the…"

"That's right. You're looking at the new owner of the Chudley Canons."

George grinned broadly. "And your favourite brother gets tickets, doesn't he?"

"Charlie's busy, George."

George gasped in fake shock. "Awful, the ways these young people behave.' He bent and kissed Pansy's cheek 'congratulations, Ron, you found someone to keep you in line."

They decided to share a ball with Neville and Luna, and at the party Draco hosted to celebrate, Severus Snape stood and said, quite gravely 'Best wishes to you, gentlemen, and if any of you have any questions about coitus, I shan't answer them."

Harry, Ron and Neville stared in shock as Draco and Greg, old married men that they were, collapsed in laughter. "Don't listen, lads, he's all the answers."

Greg snorted. "Yeah, a right lady's man, our Snape."

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Goyle! That's a thousand points from Slytherin for unwonted familiarity and being annoying brats." They laughed harder, and Neville said, very shyly,

"Actually, sir, since you brought it up…" Snape turned his face to the ceiling and looked very, very calm. "This. Is. _Not_. Funny." Then he sat down, and called for whiskey for all of them.

"You see, gentlemen, it's very important to…"

Alecto survived, though barely, and she struggled a long time with the memories of that time period. Because she was a fraternal twin, she could never marry-male and female twins being two halves of one soul, she could never separate her anima from Amycus', but she moved quietly to Italy to be with Galvin and no one said anything.

Tarpeia, living in Marseille with her Halfblood, got wind of Greg's marriage and sent him a letter, asking him to visit, intimating her leaving had to do with Galvin's not understanding her. He sent one back, polite and formal, wishing her the best and requesting she never contact him again.

And so the Wizarding world slowly began to recover. Like Sandburg's grass, the present covered the past until all that could be seen was the vague shapes of old hurts, and new pleasures came to filled in the spaces.

But there were things yet to be done. A month or so after Greyback and his aunt died, having been ruled as justified in the use of an Unforgivable, Draco dreamt. Rising, he kissed his wife and daughter, and, borrowing some muggle money, went to Kent.

The house was still deserted, but the sign was gone. More muggles would live here, maybe with children, and no robes and masked monsters would come in the night. Draco had done a little research, with Hermione's help, and so, when he put in the cake of 'What Dreams May Come' he could call her by name. He consigned the teddy bear (which wore a glittery dress that Hermione said a girl that age would love) and sweets to the fire but stopped at the last thing.

"I know you said you wanted crayons, but I couldn't find any nice ones. So I hope you don't mind' he held up the box 'these are art pastels. These aren't toys, they're for big girls, and you're a very big girl. But mind you don't make a mess, hmm? Your mother will haunt me."

She was there. Holding the little ghost bear, her face lit up when she saw the pastels. 'Just like the big girls and boys in Mummy's classes used!"

"Was she a Professor?"

The little girl nodded, and he called her by name. 'Anything else?"

"No.' She remembered her manners 'Thank you. Big Drusilla is right, she is a brilliant baby."

"Yes, she is."

"I'll keep her out of trouble until she's a big girl. Then you're on your own." She pressed icy little lips to his cheek and then vanished, clutching her treasures. Draco groaned and laughed at the same time. "I have thirteen years, everything will be all right. I'll have practice by them."

He found Hermione reading Luna's gift to the children in the nursery. Teddy was holding tightly to Hermione's skirts, squealing as he managed to stand and then let go, wavering for a moment before he fell on his backside. Draco scooped him up and sat beside Hermione.

"What did the mid-witch say, love?"

"I've a clean bill of health." He grinned and leant closer to her. "I've some things to do, Hermione Jane, but I expect to find the naughty chair ready for me at ten. With your new hairbrush, please."

Hermione blushed and nodded, but she was smiling, too. She gave him a quick kiss and whispered something in his ear, and he laughed, nodding enthusiastically. "Truly?"

"Would I lie?"

"If you have, we'll have the means to take care of it right away." And they both laughed, as the sun slanted in the windows and all was, for that moment, right in the world.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Love to reviewers.**

**This is NOT the end, either.**

**Coming up with an ending that will make people happy has been an awful, searing challenge, because no matter what I do, people will be disappointed. Suffice it to say that, because this is not the end, nothing is set in stone.**

**The quote 'Where your treasure is...' comes from a Gospel. Maybe Luke?**

**Many thanks to Countess Black.**

Draco Malfoy couldn't help but laugh at the look on his wife's face when she came from the bathroom wearing her old uniform. She looked adorably grumpy, almost pouty. He raised an eyebrow and Hermione gestured to herself.

"They're too big!" He laughed and cupped one lightly in his hand. "Too big?"

Hermione couldn't help but giggle as Draco's hand dipped lower for a second. "I don't think so."

"My blouse never looked like this at Hogwarts." He laughed again and gave her breast a gentle caress. "You look beautiful no matter what."

She looked down at them and sighed. She was glad for them, because they reminded her of how things were, but she also missed her formerly modest curves. 'Everything really is more ambitious with Slytherin' she thought to herself, and leant into Draco's hand with pleasure.

"No, you don't. I understand a certain little girl got a note home today?"

Hermione pulled the slip of paper from her pocket and bit her lip as she handed it over to him. Draco opened it, trying to look stern, and snorted. "Lighting the Potions Master on fire while battling a troll after hours. In the library."

"Yes, sir."

"I think you know what the punishment for that sort of behaviour is in this house. Come here, Hermione."

Hermione pouted as Draco lifted her skirt and tucked it into her waistband, and then, guiding her across his lap, tugged down the muggle style knickers to her knees.

"Now, Hermione Jane, I think you know that attempting to bake your professors and fighting vicious creatures after hours is not acceptable. So I'm going to hold you across my lap and smack your arse red and sore, and we'll see if you change your ways, you naughty, casually arsonous little girl."

He raised a hand and brought it down, and Hermione, not having been smacked in nearly six months, was unprepared for the burning sting. But she found there was something loving and familiar in it, like coming home.

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

**smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack **

Draco laid in, enjoying everything about the experience. Hermione was squirming and howling, and he painted on handprint after handprint, until her bum was glowing a dull, solid deep pink that was making him hard just to look at it.

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack **

**smack smack smack** **smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack **

He let her up and she gasped, dancing in place, careful never to touch her backside without his permission. He gestured to the brush, which he'd set on the vanity, and Hermione half ran across the room, squirming to try to ease the sting.

She wondered whether the new brush had been a mistake as he took it in his hands and helped her across his lap. "Now, you bad little girl, I'm going to blister your hot little bum with the brush to see you get the message that you do (smack) not(smack) set professors(smack) on fire, no matter how tempting it is.'

**SMACK SMACK SMACK** **SMACK SMACK SMACK! **

'I mean, one presumes that all that grease would be very flammable, but still."

Hermione wailed louder as he tipped up his knee and whacked her under curve until she thought she couldn't bear another second. Every single inch of where she sat was on fire, and she was sobbing freely, letting all the terrible emotions of the past few months go at once.

**SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK ! SMACK SMACK SMACK!**

Draco set down the brush and started to rub her back lightly, trying to calm her down. Hermione was sobbing, and the whole thing wasn't in jest anymore. Draco scooped her up and settled her on his lap right side up, rocking, and Hermione buried her face in his neck and sobbed with relief.

"I can't believe it's really over!"

Draco blinked his own tears. "Nor I, love. I'd not have waited so long to do this, but we had to make sure my little girl was up to it." They sat there together like that a long time, and then, once she'd calmed enough, he set her on her feet.

"Let me see, little girl. Is it red and hot enough?" He turned her and inspected the damage. The brush, he decided, was brilliant, heavy enough to leave a fiery burn but lighter than Mother's, so not as apt to bruise. And it made a wonderful colour which she'd have for a few days, he thought with pride.

"It'll do. From now on, Hermione, Fridays at ten is maintenance time, understood?"

Hermione nodded and sniffled harder. The thought of any more pain in her throbbing, burning backside was too much at the moment, but she knew she'd want it again soon. She'd forgot how small and loved this made her feel, how close to Draco. Draco rose and took the chair to the corner.

"You know where your bottom goes next, little girl." Hermione sobbed a promise of good behaviour even as her feet carried her to the chair and she made herself sit, yowling as the throbbing increased vilely.

Draco timed ten minutes on his watch and called her over again, salve in hand. She half flung herself across his lap and relaxed, sighing, as he massaged cooling salve into every inch of her scarlet backside.

"That really hurt!"

"You're a very naughty little girl. You need your bottom bared and smacked hot to help you remember to behave."

Hermione huffed and he gently tickled her side and righted her. "Nightgown, my girl."

His wife raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? If I take off my uniform, I won't have anything on."

"…Yes?"

"Draco, if I'm not wearing anything…and you weren't wearing anything…" She looked at him and he laughed, hard. "Darling, you've just got smacked. Don't you need a rest?"

"It wasn't for punishment, though. Shouldn't we celebrate things going back like they were?"

He threw up his hands. "All right, you bad little girl, get into bed."

Within a few moments, they'd got into bed and more, and they went three times, and were happy.

After, they lay together in the heat and the quiet, and Draco kissed his wife's neck. "Hermione?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you ever worry how we'll tell Drusilla? About…everything?"

Hermione nodded drowsily. "I've a bit of a plan."

He sighed. "Of course you do. You always do."

Tibby scratched on the door and was bidden entrance. She was holding a sleepy looking Toffee. Hermione smiled, sat, and took the little creature in her arms. "There you are!"

"Toffee is being very bad kneazle! He is being in Miss Drusilla's crib again!"

Hermione laughed. "Did he hurt anything?"

"Is being the principal." Tibby looked sour and bowing, vanished, as Hermione settled the kneazle on her other side. "I hope he and Crookshanks will get along."

Draco shuttered in mock terror. "Two of them! I shan't have a place in bed."

Hermione nuzzled against him and relaxed. "Galten's been saying they should go back to the Keep."

"And what did Mother say?"

"She said she'd talk to Antigone."

"They'll be staying, then." They both laughed, knowing no one could escape Narcissa's gently bred determination to keep everyone she considered part of her purview in the same place.

Draco had once dreamt of having everyone he loved in the same place, and his dream had come, if not wholly true, than close enough. He loved that he could see Andromeda and Teddy, or the Goyles, whenever he liked.

"What sort of idea?"

But Hermione was drowsing, and just mumbled when he asked again.

Draco was trying to sketch the damned kneazle when Hermione came into the room he was using as a study and plunked something down. He raised an eyebrow.

"So this is what my little girl's been doing?"

"It's probably not very good, but…"

He snorted and opened to the title page, flipped through. "You even mentioned Bellatrix."

"She was part of it, too." She'd covered the whole War, he noticed with pride.

"Hermione, this is really very well done. Let's show Father and Mother."

Hermione shrugged. "If you like, Draco."

"No pictures, though. Perhaps I should volunteer to remedy that?" He showed her the pictures and she was gratifyingly impressed, and they felt a little of the fear of telling their daughter recede.

Lucius and Narcissa liked it too, well enough that Lucius quietly sent it to a friend of his, who published children's books. The man wrote Hermione, asking to buy the rights, and could she write more? Maybe update some of the old fairy stories? Translate some which had never been read by non-runish speakers?

Hermione thought perhaps she could. Because they didn't need the money, most of it went to various charities the Malfoys had always been involved with, along with the Muggleborn Wizards and Witches Association, the Werewolf Human Unity League, and, of course, the library at Hogwarts, which got regular bank drafts, including some specifically for special wards to make the Restricted Section less accessible to clever young witches and wizards who might not understand the implications of what they were doing.

The proverbial hippogriff in the room were Hermione's parents. Hermione adored her inlaws, and had come to love and respect the Goyles, Andromeda Tonks and the rest of her family. But she couldn't forget them, and sometimes, when Drusilla smiled the first time or Teddy's first word was her daughter's name, she wanted them to know.

And the danger was gone. Was it? The nightmares were better-she and Draco knew they'd never be totally free of what they'd been made to do in those hellish years-but if she stabbed Greyback to death once or twice a week in her sleep, it was worth it knowing he was dead and could never come back.

Had too much time gone by for them? They had lives now. So she did. She would be twenty at her next birthday, she realised with a pang, and she had shut them so long that she wondered whether the people they'd been even existed anymore. She could see them in her mind's eye, hear their voices-but with every passing day they grew more faint.

She asked Draco one night in bed. He'd been quiet a long time. "Do you want to find them, love?"

Hermione rolled to rest her head over his heart. "Yes. No. Both at the same time."

"It's been a year."

"I know." Hermione wondered sometimes where the girl she'd been when she married went- it couldn't just be a year ago, could it? Not when she'd nearly lost a baby, and stabbed someone, and lived every day with the man beside her in the bed, and helped end a war?

Draco didn't want to say anything. He didn't, because it would hurt her, no matter what he said, and he'd bite out his tongue before he did that. She sighed deeply and told him her thoughts.

Draco stayed quiet. He'd not wanted them found, and at some level still didn't, but a muggle ghost had helped him defeat the Death Eaters, and perhaps, because of that, he gave it a touch more thought than he might have.

Hermione went and asked Lucius. Lucius, along with his wife and son, had been content to leave them forever in Australia, and keep Hermione for themselves. He still wanted that-the last year had deepened his love for the girl, and he'd come to see her as truly a daughter to them.

But he'd held his granddaughter, and they'd not have that chance. Life is precious-Draco had been prepared to cut Bellatrix's heart from her chest to save Drusilla, and he'd killed his share to keep the family safe.

Could he deny them that, when they should know how special Drusilla really was, the girl who'd survived through so much? Who was sitting now, and with whom Draco was hopelessly, absolutely, smitten? Whom Hermione told everyone proudly was brighter than any baby she'd ever met?

He went and found his wife holding her, adjusting the little linen cap on the baby's head. Drusilla cooed and reached for Grandmother's swinging earrings, and Narcissa laughed and called the baby her princess.

"She is, that." Narcissa started and turned, and put the baby on her hip, were she waved happily at Grandfather, who was, the women would have said, as smitten as Draco himself.

"The aristocracy of luck?"

Lucius shook his head. "We make our own luck, Narcissa. Drusilla is the heiress to the oldest bloodline in England."

It lay unspoken between them that the baby was a Halfblood. Of all the words that they would have used for their daughter in law, 'mudblood' had ceased even to be considered, and died quietly thereafter. Neither of them would ever feel exactly comfortable with muggles or things associated with them, but Drusilla was such a pleasure that they both decided perhaps there were worse things, after all.

"That, too. But I can't help but feel a child who's survived so much is bound for something truly special."

Lucius nodded. "I daresay. Let's just hope it's nothing dangerous, shall we?"

Narcissa laughed aloud. "With those two for parents? What are the odds?"

"True. Let's hope it's nothing we can't help her with."

Help came from the least expected quarter, in the form of a tall, elegant woman swathed in mourning clothes. Hermione had been writing when she was called to the formal salon, and, wiping her hands, she came down, feeling a slight flutter of trepidation.

The woman rose at once when Hermione entered. "Madam Malfoy. I am Bilquis Rochefort." Hermione shook the woman's hand and looked at Narcissa questioningly.

"Blaise was my son. Blaise Zabini, I mean. You sent me a letter after his passing…I have always appreciated it."

"I'm glad to hear it helped, Madam Rochefort."

"Yes, well…I understand your parents have never been found."

Hermione swallowed. "That's right."

"I might be able to help. My fifth husband, Mr. Feathering, had a cousin who was Secretary to the Under Minister in Australia. Would you like me to make inquiries?"

"That would be very generous of you."

Bilquis took Hermione's hand in hers. "That is, if you want them found."

Hermione smiled tiredly. "It's been a very long time, Madam Rochefort. I don't know that it would be fair to…"

"Of course."

The woman squeezed her hand again. After she left, Hermione rose and went to find Lucius. "Father?"

"Come in, love. Drusilla is helping me with some paperwork."

The baby waved the quill she'd been chewing in the air and shrieked happily, showing the little white nub of a tooth she was getting.

Hermione calmly laid her case out. "They'll be settled. And it's been three years. So much has changed."

Lucius nodded and waved to Teddy, who'd toddled in, holding his stuffed dragon (which was very like Draco's old one, but bright green). "Un'le! Teddy have pants!"

"I know you've pants now, Teddy, like a big boy."

Teddy beamed and clung to Hermione's leg. "Up! Up, My'ee! Pl'ze?"

As soon as Teddy was up, he reached for Drusilla. "Zilla! Teddy pants!"

Drusilla laughed and reached back, and Teddy obligingly handed over the dragon. Drusilla tasted it and told Teddy all about it, cooing and giggling.

"I could not have asked for a better comfort in my old age than those two. After Draco and yourself, of course."

Hermione sat and pulled Teddy onto her lap. "You aren't old, Father."

"No, but I'm not precisely young, either. The War aged us."

She nodded. "But they won't…they won't ever understand."

"No. You did a tremendously unselfish thing, sending them away." He held his granddaughter closer for a moment and then set her down on the carpet, ordering Tibby to ward the rug in front of the fireplace so the babies could play.

"But they've a right to know."

"Darling, you've easily some of the best judgement of anyone I know. What do you-honestly, truly-think would make the most number of people happiest?"

Hermione shook her head. "Do you remember when we talked about negative capability, Father?"

"Yes, love, of course."

"Adulthood is the death of certainty."

He raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Because-because you can never really be sure again, if what you're doing is right. There's always that sense…"

"Looking for high tide?"

"Something like that." She looked thoughtful, and Lucius gently sat down and pulled her closer. "Lie your head down, good girl. Shhhhh…" Hermione cried and he held her, and then she stood and walked a long time by herself. She went and visited Harry too, and Arthur Weasley.

In Bendemere, Australia, Crookshanks put up his great shaggy head and snuffled the morning air. He could smell a change, but his bones told him he'd not see it. That struck him as being all right. His body hurt, and he knew there was Something Bad in him, the Predator come at last, a sore place in his stomach which wouldn't go away. He'd been old when the Girl had found him, and he was old now.

He still loved Her, still missed Her. She'd never come back for him, but Crookshanks felt, in his heart of hearts, it was not because She'd forgot him. He'd never forgot her, after all. Cats have no fear of the Dark; as he sank into it, lying in state on the Man's old jersey, he left his tired, achy body behind and gained his birthright, which was the world. She was there! His Girl was found!

He went from the place where the world was and laid down beside, body young and lithe, and knew all, and understood. He'd never leave Her side again, and so returned to the world and waited with the endless patience of a cat, for the day She'd return to him at last.

When the word came, it had been a long time. Drusilla was walking now, and Hermione held the letter in a trembling hand. And then called for Tibby to pack her trunk, missing Leesy a little, and told her husband she wanted to go, and he would he go too? He would. They all would, and so, trunks packed, they set out for Australia.

She'd shown Snape the spell, but he'd taken his time in reverse engineering a counter for it. He rose and left the laboratory as quietly as possible. The Book of Vile Darkness beckoned him from the table, as it always would, to some part of him. He cleaned himself well and left it behind, and went to find the new life he'd made.

As he crested the stairs, he heard a commotion and stepped from the doorframe in time for a giggling Teddy Lupin to cannonball at his legs. "Snape! I drew Toffee! Come see?" He motioned to be picked up, and knowing the wolf was turning in his grave, Snape did just that, and put the boy on his hip as Drusilla wobbled into view, giving him a slight start. It would never seem exactly right, Draco's eyes in Hermione's face, with Bellatrix's curly hair for good measure, but a sort of honeyed blonde. He picked her up as well, and felt his eyes get ever so slightly moist as she snuggled into his neck.

"You're both incorrigible brats, and not worth my time."

Teddy giggled and clutched Snape's neck tighter. "Read a book?"

Snape heaved a sigh and headed for the nursery. "Very well, but not 'Morella'. I'm sick of that one."

"Great Slyth'rins?"

Snape nodded brusquely. "If we must." A muggle had once said 'Where your treasure is, there your heart shall be.' Snape, as an occupational requirement, had no heart, and he maintained Spinner's End out of principal, but…if it had a heart, it would be here, with the closest he'd ever have to grandchildren, and the family he'd somehow, despite his best efforts, got.

And so here he was, and he swished, and the woman's eyes lit up for a second. "Where am I?"

"Could I ask you to hold that thought?" Lucius had done for the man, and Draco was leading his wife inside. "Draco, Mother said… _Mum_? _Dad_?"

Draco moved as his wife flew across the room, as the woman gasped 'Hermione!' and rose, and then they were melded together, sobbing, and the man held them both. They stayed that way a long time, until Hermione straightened, wiped her streaming eyes, and said "There's some people I'd like you to meet."

She motioned Draco forward and he felt a sudden, wholly uncharacteristic moment of self doubt. What if they hated him? Or she told them about how they'd met?

"…is my husband, Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy? Isn't he the little snotty one you said used to tease you?"

"Yes, sir, that would be me. Charmed." Cyril Granger looked slightly abashed and extended a hand. "Husband? Hermione, you're seventeen."

"No, Mum. It took us a very long time to find you."

"How long?"

"Four years."

Both Grangers gasped and looked at one another. "Truly?"

"Yes. And these are my in-laws. Mother, Father, Anne Marie and Cyril Granger, my parents." They came forward as well, and Draco was relieved to see Mother liked them both, and even Father didn't seem as tense as Draco might have thought.

"And these are my…well, my foster parents, and Draco's best friend…" Antigone and Galten shook hands and looked shy, until Galten finally said "She's a right good girl, Hermione. Stubborn, though."

Cyril Granger laughed, and Draco could see him in Hermione, in the way they both tipped their heads, the movements of the hands. Anne Marie was gently holding her daughter, saying nothing. Then 'Any more suprises, Hermione Jane?"

He bit his tongue as his wife flushed and then said 'Actually, Mum…" She went and got Drusilla herself, and all conversation stopped.

"Hermione…"

"Her name is Drusilla." Drusilla was going through a shy phase and dropped her face into Hermione's hair, only to peak out again, giggling. "Mother!"

"Come and meet Nan and Granddad, Drusilla."

Drusilla wriggled to be set down and went to Anne Marie. "Mother!" She said again, and pointed to Hermione. Draco bent and gave his daughter a kiss on the top of her head. She beamed up and pointed to him as well. "Father!" Draco laughed and turned to his mother in law (the muggle one) and said 'She takes after Hermione'.

"I see that, though I hope you can keep clothes on her. When Hermione was that age, every time I looked she was stripping and running through the house."

"Mum! Do we have to do this now?"

Draco laughed out loud. "We certainly do! Please, Mother Granger, tell me all about it."

There would be hard questions and catching up, but for now they just revelled in one another, and in what was lost being found again.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: This is a short chapter, more of an epilogue, because I want to spend a little time up here, so to speak.**

**After eighteen months, 1085 pages, sixty nine chapter, and 340,037 words, it's time to put the Silence-verse to rest. Probably there will be a few more one shots, especially if there are requests, but on the whole, I feel this story has been told.**

**For those of you who have been with me from the beginning, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You truly wrote this story-the encouragement and support were vital. To those of you who joined later, thank you as much.**

**To Countess Black, my dear beta reader and real life friend-thank you so much. Draco says to tell you he likes you better, after all.**

**To the many, many authors who inspired me, and from whom I took the occasional quote-thank you. If I've failed to cite something, please forgive me.**

**To the many people in my life who've helped me through some terrible times-thank you.**

**To my BF-thank you so much. Your support means the world to me.**

**It's been a wonderful journey, and I look forward to my next project, the first chapter of which is written and will be posted within a day or so, hopefully.**

**People sometimes ask why I write fan fiction when it will never pay. To them, I would say**

"**It is not the size of the sacrifice but the love with which it is given." St. Therese of Lisieux**

**AMDG and to all of you,**

**Madea**

**PS-Missy: Yes, Harry is still Teddy's godfather. It just never came up.**

Before they'd gone to Australia, Draco had performed a duty. He'd spent weeks narrowing down candidates, and finally decided on an old couple who lived near Hackney. Apparating to the house, he knocked, and was bidden in by an old woman who looked like she must cough dust.

Draco took the cup of tea he was offered and sat a little awkwardly on the tiny chintz divan. "I understand your son was a squib?"

"Yes, our Ferdinand. He was a good boy."

"I'm here on behalf on one who can no more speak for herself. Will you receive my suit?"

The old man jerked and called his wife to leave the tarts she was getting and come. "Mother! Hurry!"

"I will. What would you offer?"

Draco calmly set down the bank draft he'd brought. The old man's eyes widened in surprise. "F-five hundred galleons? Is this a joke?"

Draco shook his head. "Not at all. I promised a dowry commiserate with my daughter's."

"Was she a friend, this girl?"

"One could say that."

The old woman was weeping with happiness. She bent and kissed Draco's cheek, still weeping. "Our F-Ferdinand will have a home!" Her worst fear was that her son would become a hungry ghost, and now that would never happen, since because they had no more living relatives, the Malfoys would tend to his needs in the afterlife. Ad theirs, since they were effectively adopting them as ancestors.

"I accept with gladness." The old man signed the draft and put it in his shirt pocket. Hands shaking, he went to a tiny room and, looking around, finally decided on an enchanted toy dragon, carved in wood.

"He was eight."

"What happened?"

The old man smiled sadly. "You've no idea how good young people have it these days, with all the protections against disease. We didn't know about Hierophant's Chorea then, let alone how to fight it."

Draco took the toy and tucked it into his pocket. Bidding the older couple, both of them weeping now, farewell, he Apparated back to the manor, where Ridgey had carefully carved the first name. As he watched, the second was applied, and then he lit the brazier and intoned the first blessings.

"Ridgey, have Tibby get Miss, please."

Tibby brought the baby a few moments later, and Draco held his daughter as he chanted the ritual that married the two spirits, freeing them, giving them a sense of place and the world to explore.

He handed the first offering to Drusilla and let her inspect it. Then he gently prised it from her damp little hand and dropped it into the flames. "It's a pocket watch, like big boys have. Remember to wind it." It was made of thin wood, but every piece was in place, and he carefully dropped the little mock key after it. Drusilla herself reached for the second, and he let her explore a moment and then helped her drop it in.

"Hair combs, and a good brush to with them." The flames flared, and Draco felt sure he could see two shapes shimmering at the edges of his vision for a moment. Drusilla laughed and reached for them, then put her arms about his neck instead.

Draco finished by giving sweets and watered wine, and, closing with the proper words, rose. There was a bloodstain on the marble from where Greyback had lain, and it made him fiercely glad. "Shall we find Mother, Drusilla?"

"Yes! Mother' Drusilla yawned and nuzzled into his neck. 'Father?"

"Yes, my darling?"

Drusilla giggled again and surprised him by giving him a kiss on the cheek, the first time she'd ever done spontaneously. He smiled and brought his daughter back with him to the living, and left the dead behind them.

There was one more thing. Draco went to his mother in law one night in the kitchen of the muggle house. They'd been living as much as possible in the present, avoiding any but the broadest questions about the past. "Mother Granger?"

She turned, looking very like Hermione, and smiled. "Draco?"

"I, ah…Hermione…did she tell you about my aunt?"

"Beatrix, wasn't it? The mad one?"

Draco snorted. "Bellatrix, yes."

"She tried to kill you both."

"Yes, she did. She was aiming for me, when she hit Hermione with that curse."

"She said." Anne Marie began to wipe down the counters and Draco flicked his wand, setting the rag to do it automatically. "She's never said how you met, though. Really met. She used to complain about you, and then, before Cyril and I…left…she'd stopped. Her Dad asked her and she said she thought you'd grown up quite a lot."

Her daughter's tall, thin husband actually blushed a bit. "One could say. But she and I…she helped me through a difficult time."

Anne Marie nodded. "I imagine. If I were Narcissa, I would have gone mad, whilst you were doing whatever that awful man made you do."

"Mother told you?"

"Your father mentioned it. What was it, if you don't mind my asking?"

"He wanted me to kill Headmaster Dumbledore." Draco could say it without cringing these days, though it still hurt and always would, a little, the memories of that night.

"My God."

"When we thought Hermione would…she made me promise to tell you how happy we are. So I am. The best day of my life was the day Hermione told me that she wanted to be with me."

"When was this?"

"October of sixth year, give or take a month or so. We'd been seeing each other since December of the year before."

Anne Marie nodded. "Did she know?"

"No. I thought He might try to hurt her."

"How did you tell her?"

Draco swallowed hard. "I didn't. She gave me a book to read-The Scarlet Letter?-and I underlined a passage for her to find."

Anne Marie continued to study him, and Draco said, very quietly "My aunt was only one of the people who were at our house at the time, Mother Granger. If they'd found out-if she'd tried to stop it-she did try to stop it, and Greyback would've killed her if Tibby hadn't been there. He'd mauled Bill Weasley almost to death just before."

Anne Marie reached out and gently touched his arm. "I'm not judging you, Draco. It's all rather a lot to take in, is all."

He nodded. "It is. It was a lot to live."

"I imagine. But you're both very strong."

He shook his head. "She is. I was just lucky."

Anne Marie hugged him and said, "I think it's time we talked about this as family, don't you?"

Draco nodded. "Has she ever told you she fought a troll first year?"

Hermione was chatting with her Dad when her husband and mother came from the kitchen."What's this about a troll, Hermione Jane Granger?"

Hermione set down her tumbler and shot her husband a Look. "Draco?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"_Draco_." He bent into her ear. "Told you I'd tell them. Not so funny now, is it?"

Hermione gave him another Look and Cyril, snorting, bent closer to Lucius. "I'll go and make up the camping cot for your son, I reckon he'll need it."

Lucius chuckled. "Quite." Greg, sitting with his Milly, grinned at Draco until Draco mouthed a obscene word at him.

"Well, you see, Mum…"

That story led to others, and it took most of the night. Greg ended up with a snoozing Teddy on his lap, relaxing into he and Milly. 'And then I started to write children's books."

Teddy opened his eyes and said 'They're good. Not like 'Morella'. 'Morella' is tripe."

Everyone stopped and stared. "Who told you that, Teddy?"

"Snape." Teddy happily cuddled his stuffed dragon and popped his thumb in his mouth. "Well, Severus, there's yet another young mind corrupted."

"Can I help it if Morella is an insipid shrew?"

"Perhaps considering three years old is a bit young for literary criticism might help?"

"Uncle Percy says I'm not too young to start paying attention to things." Teddy took his thumb out to deliver this gem and put his thumb back in with a satisfied smile, then wriggled from Greg's lap and climbed into Snape's. "Least he didn't want to know about babies, Professor."

Snape nodded tiredly and Teddy, attention piqued, said 'Drusilla's a baby. I'm a big boy."

"Big enough to repeat what you've heard, certainly."

"Drusilla came from Hermione's belly?"

"Yes, she did." Teddy's brow creased. "How did she get _in _Hermione's belly?"

The younger people in the room, especially the Slytherins, were nearly purple with holding laughter in. Snape sighed tiredly and turned to Cyril. "Have you anything stronger to drink? Like hemlock?"

Lucius was well pleased. "This will teach you not to corrupt the innocence of childhood, at least." He smirked hugely and, as Teddy went by, handed the little fellow five sickles. "Well done, love."

The story continued, with everyone adding something as it came to their part. The past and present wove into a single tapestry, all of them telling about the bits they'd woven, and those whose weaving was done forever.

"I wanted to show you-show everyone, really-I just got it before we left." Hermione went and retrieved the book from her little pocketbook, which had served her so well for so long.

'_How Much Do We Love You?'_

'_We love you so much that when we heard you were coming, Father and Mother cried for joy. Then we told Grandmother and Grandfather, and they cried too, because they wanted so much for you to be part of our family._

'_We were so glad to hear you were coming, and we waited a long, long time to finally meet you.'_

Hermione paused. "The mass published edition is slightly different. This one is tailored to Drusilla especially. Teddy has one too." Andromeda smiled and snuggled her grandson, who'd climbed in her lap to sleep, little face peaceful and calm.

'_When Mother and Father were young, some people didn't think that Purebloods and muggleborns should be friends. But Father and Mother loved one another so much they refused to listen, and became friends anyway.'_

'_At the time, Father and Grandfather were friends with some people-called Death Eaters- who weren't very nice. Their leader was angry at Grandfather, and he tried to make Father do something very bad to punish the family._

'_Mother didn't know any of this. But Father was very glad to have someone to spend time with, and he started to think that he loved Mother and wanted to be with her always. But the Death Eaters wouldn't like that, so he didn't say anything._

'_Mother wanted to be with Father, too, so finally they decided they wouldn't tell anyone. When it was time to do the bad thing, Snape stepped in and helped, because he didn't want Father to be hurt. Mother and Father didn't see one another for a long time.'_

The words surrounded all of them, the names of the dead and the living, reminding them of what had been won and what had been lost. As they listened, all of them had the sense the dead, called by the love they bore the living and the living bore them, had come as well. Vince was resting between Greg and Draco, looking at his niece and his best mates in the whole world, and thinking that things tend to fall right in the end. Crookshanks was beside him, grumbling softly, ears perked up.

Dora and Remus were flanking Andromeda and Teddy, looking at their son with love and longing. Next to them, Cygnus smiled down at his little Newt, who'd gained the weight back and lost the circles from under her eyes.

Albus Dumbledore was to Snape's left, nodding, eyes bright, and Rose next to him, standing at her daughter's shoulder, with Drusilla the elder perched on Lucius' lap, head on his shoulder, listening to his heart.

Fred Weasley and Colin Creevy both came to hear, grinning at one another, along with Blaise and Polynices. Hecuba stood behind her daughter, eyes closed, and was just present in the moment, feeling her freedom, and knowing the world was hers to explore.

There were others as well, who, with effort and patience, might someday be welcome here .

Bellatrix managed to come for just a second, and see what she'd given up. She touched her great niece's cheek and felt a stab of grief, and then was gone. It was a start.

The dead cast long shadows, and those who'd woven their part in the story waited, knowing they'd get their own turn in due course, and that, like everything else, there is a time for silence and a time to speak.


End file.
